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MISS NANCY 




‘And what’s a butterfly? at best. 
He’s but a caterpillar drest;” 

Gay. 


y 





PHILADELPHIA I 

DAVID McKAY. 

1884. 





Copyright, 1884 
DAVID McKAY. 


2.i 


iO 




ALDiNE PRINTING HOUSE, 
PHILADELPHIA. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTERS. 

I - , BERKELEY SPRINGS. 

II - - - MRS. RITTENHOUSE’S BALL. 

Til CATERPILLAR STREET. 

IV THE ASSEMBLY BOOK. 

V THE CHARITY BALL. 

VI THE BURGLAR. 

VH - A SLIP IN THE MUD. 

VHI ... - MRS. CHIVICK PLEADS. 

IX - - - A LITTLE THEATRE PARTY. 

X - - - - AN AFTERNOON WALK. 

XI - - - - “GOOD-BY, MISS NANCY.” 

XII - - - RITTENHOUSE TRIUMPHANT. 

XIII - - - - RITTENHOUSE SQUARED. 

XIV ... - - JACK AS CHAPERON. 

XV - - - - - HER WEDDING DAY. 



MISS NANCY. 


CHAPTER I. 

BERKELEY SPRINGS. 

JI^OWN in the mountains of West Virginia 
there is an insignificant little village called 
Berkeley Springs. In summer it is crowded with 
“guests,” as the hotel proprietor politely calls 
them; from many Eastern cities they flock to 
these Springs, and lead a lazy, peaceful life, which 
to most of us is so pleasant. The mountains 
rising on all sides shut them in from the outer 
world, so that they form a little colony all to 
themselves — laughing, flirting and quarreling to- 
gether in the most harmonious way. But in 
winter the solitude can scarcely be described; 
few journeys are taken over the mountain road 

rn 


8 


MISS NANCY, 


to Sir John’s run and the world beyond; nothing 
seems to happen and the monotony of the 
country life is terrible. 

One clear, cold, starlight night in the latter 
part of December the little village was enjoying 
its usual tranquility; but if you had entered some 
of the small frame houses to listen to the homely, 
simple chat, you would have heard many a regret 
expressed about Miss Nancy’s leaving on the fol- 
lowing morning. That was the town topic — 
how the Jacksons would do without her. “ For 
you know. Miss Smith,” remarked one old 
darkey to another, “ Miss Nancy certainly do run 
dat house. Miss Jackson am pore trash.” 

“Dat certainly am true. Aunt Sallie,” inter- 
posed her husband, knocking the ashes from his 
pipe ; “ Miss Nancy am a powerful worker, and 
mighty smart, too.” 

This was the opinion generally expressed. 
Mrs. Jackson was a second wife, and, being a 
quiet, sickly woman, not of much authority in 
the village. Aunt Sallie, the cook and a leading 


BERKELEY SPRINGS. 9 

■ sister in the Methodist church, felt qualified to 
publish her opinions on all topics, private and 
public. 

' Captain Jackson’s house stood opposite the 
hotel, or, to speak more correctly, the grove. 
Time had dealt kindly with the old homestead, 
for though he had eaten off all signs of paint 
and had obliged the second-story piazza to be 
1 propped up with long poles, still he left the 
grand, gracious old trees to cover up all defects 
while the summer lasted, and when winter made 
the trees bare and leafless no prying stranger 
was left to spy out “the nakedness of the land.” 

Light streamed from the large dining-room 
windows, innocent of curtains or shutters, and 
cheered several humble villagers staggering home 
from some friendly gathering. Within all was 
cheerful and bright. The room was large, with 
little furniture save the necessary table in the 
middle, chairs and a book-case, while half-a-dozen 
family portraits smiled or frowned down in un- 
broken silence ; but a big wood-fire, glowing and 


10 


mss miJsrcY. 


crackling on the old-fashioned hearth, lent an air 
of comfort to the forlorn surroundings. 

Captain Jackson, wrapped in a faded dressing- 
gown, was sitting in an arm-chair beside the fire, 
peacefully smoking and enjoying the heat, now 
and then caressing the ears of a pointer stretched 
full length by the welcome blaze. A much 
more active scene was going on in another part 
of the room. Miss Nancy was trying to lock a 
very full trunk, while little Ken and wee Virgie 
were doing their best to help. Just then came 
the clatter of little wooden soles outside in the 
hall, and a boy of about nine burst in the room, 
almost hidden by a pile of white skirts. 

“Nancy,” he exclaimed, “you’ve forgot your 
petticoats!” 

A little frown of anxiety came on the girl’s 
smooth, white forehead as she said: “Oh, Jack! 
how can I put them in? the trunk’s too full npw.” 

“Wear ’em,” proposed Jack, laconically; but 
as this suggestion met with no encouragement he 
helped lift out the tray, put the dainty skirts in. 


BERKELEY SPRIKOS. 


11 


then try again to lock it. The trunk, probably 
feeling this to be an imposition on its good 
nature, refused to close, so out came the heavy 
tray once more. Before Nancy knew what was 
done Jack had jumped in and stamped them 
down. Indignation so strengthened her that she 
easily hauled him out. “You’ve got them all 
dirty, you horrid boy!” 

“I was trying to help you,” returned Jack,, 
wrathfully, feeling that his intentions at least 
were good. 

Nancy soon pacified him as she alone could,, 
and at last, with great difficulty, the troublesome 
trunk was locked and strapped. Then Jack 
fastened on a little tag with the full address : — 

Miss Nancy Jackson, 

Care of Mr. Morris L. Shew^ 

182^ Walnut Street, 

Philada-.^ Pa. 

This mighty task over they gathered round 
the fire, Nancy on a little cricket, Virgie on her 
lap, Ken and sturdy, red-headed, devoted Jack 


12 


MISS MANGY. 


close by. He was her own and only -brother, 
dearer than anything else in the world ; and 
through all Jack’s obstinacy, his mischief, his 
boyish badness even, there shone that one ray of 
pure good — the love he bore his sister. Still the 
children of the second Mrs. Jackson were very 
dear to Nancy, and though she was barely nine- 
teen she exercised almost unlimited authority 
over them. 

^‘Just think, children,” said she, gravely, wish- 
ing to work on their feelings ; “ I will be way off 
In Philadelphia to-morrow night.” 

‘‘ And you’re a mighty lucky girl to go, too,” 
remarked Jack. “Wish I was in your place, just 
to have a good time all winter.” 

“Yes, you’ll go to ve pheatre and parties and 
phe circus every day, and we won’t do nuffin,” 
said little Ken, which sorrowful picture so worked 
on Virgie’s feelings that she began to cry. “ Oh, 
Nancy, take me — I want to go, too ?” she wailed. 
•“And me,” sobbed Ken. 

“ I wish, Nancy, you would not say such things 


BERKELEY SPRUSTOS. 13 

to the children. It’s very thoughtless, when you 
know how it affects your poor mother,” said her 
father, in his weak, querulous way. 

Nancy had not intended to reduce them to 
tears, so she coaxed and petted till the smiles 
returned — then she carried them off for the night. 
In their little white gowns they knelt to say 
their simple childish prayers before scampering off 
to bed. As they lay there so rosy and sweety 
the tears came to Nancy’s eyes at the thought of 
how many months would pass before she heard 
those prayers again. Jack diverted these mourn- 
ful thoughts, and they had a lively tussle before 
he was subdued. Mrs. Jackson’s room could not 
be entered, as she had one of her neuralgic head- 
aches, and it had been found best to prescribe 
perfect quiet as her only medicine. 

Clear and crisp was the air next morning ; the 
snow lay deep on the road and up the mountain 
side, which rose abruptly in front of the village. 
The sleigh-bells tinkled as the impatient horses 
pawed the ground. “ Hurry up, Nancy ! the 


14 


3nss NAJS^CY. 


horses hate to stand,” called her father, impa- 
tiently. 

Poor Nancy was loath to go ; the children 
clung to her and several villagers had come to 
cay good-bye. Fat Aunt Sallie stood, dipper in 
one hand, while with the other she wiped the 
tears from her shiny face. Mrs. Jackson ap- 
peared at an upper window, the greater part of 
her head still obscured by a tight bandage. 

“ Good-bye, Ken and Virgie — Oh, Jack ! be a 

j 

good boy” — the tears coming into her voice. I 
Good-bye, good-bye !” and jumping into the i 
sleigh they drove off. | 

“ De Lord bless you. Miss Nancy,’’ shouted 
Aunt Sallie’s sweet, soft voice, ‘‘and bring you 
home safe !” With this blessing ringing in their 
ears, they glided swiftly round the curve that hid 
them from view. Soon their speed slackened as 
they began to ascend the mountain. On her left 
Nancy could look down in the grove of the 
hotel, which gradually sank lower and lower. 
Toiling painfully up the snowy incline she saw a 


I BERKELEY SPRIKOS. 16 

small, familiar figure. “Wait a mirxute, Dad,” 
she said, and soon Jack emerged on the road, 
panting and almost worn out. 

“You blessed boy!” exclaimed Nancy, ten- 
derly lifting him in the sleigh. 

Soon they reach the station ; soon — ah, far too 
soon. Nancy’s train comes and goes, leaving her 
father and little Jack straining their eyes to catch 
the last glimpse of her fluttering handkerchief. 

To a person of Nancy’s buoyant, excitable 
temperament railroad traveling is delightful. She 
pictures to herself the pleasures in store for her in 
Philadelphia; she thinks of her dear old home; 
wonders if she will come back the same; then 
reads a little, studies her fellow passengers, re- 
turns again to her fancies, and when the train 
stops at the Relay she is astonished to find it is 
five o’clock. Here she changes cars, and a few 
minutes later the train makes a brief stop at the 
Union Station" in Baltimore. Nancy thrusts her 
head out the open window, and looks up and 
down the long, narrow depot, curiously watching 


IG 


MISS MAMCY. 


>1 

the people as they hurry to and fro. Suddenlyl 
she catches sight of a tall man striding towards) 
her. She smiles and bows as he gets into the^ 
car, and in a moment more he is sitting beside! 
her. ■ 

Why, Mr. Latrobe !” she says, her cheeks^ 
scarlet, as the train moves on. “ I am so sur-^ 
prised to see you ! How did you know I was^ 
here ?” j 

He laughed, then said in his soft Southern^ 
way : “ Edith Shew wrote Berne you were com-k 
ing to-day, so I took advantage of the informa-g 
tion, and here I am. Do you mind ?” y 

“ Mind ! why I’m so charmed I don’t knowf 
what to say,” in a purposely elegant manner. { 
Now, Miss Nancy, please don’t,” he pleaded, 
earnestly, though his eyes twinkled. 

“ Don’t what ?” asked Nancy, in a most inno- 
cent tone. 

Don’t be affected ; next June I will be fully 
prepared for it, but now it’s too great a shock.” 

“ It suddenly struck me,” began Nancy, slowly, 
as if thinking deeply. 


BEBKELEY SPRINGS. 


17 


! “ What ? my hat ? I beg ten thousand par- 

i dons removing it as far away as possible. 

I They both laughed, but Narxy continued, soberly : 
‘‘ Suppose after all they shouldn’t like me ; here 
I am locking forward to being something won-^ 
j derful in Philadelphia society ; now suppose they 
I find me stupid and I become a wall flower; 
wouldn’t it be a good joke on me?” 

“ ril njake them like you,” returned he, ener- 
getically, ‘‘ if needs be, at the point of the 
bayonet ?” 

“ But, seriously, Mr. Latrobe,” said she, “ do 
you think they will like me ?’ 

“ Oh, I see what you want ! A dose of most 
wholesale flattery. Miss Jackson,” with an elab- 
orate wave of the hand. I am convinced that 
all Philadelphia will be at your feet ten minutes — 
no! five — after you arrive. Charms such as 

yours .” Here she interrupted him, Edith 

wrote me you were going West ; is it true ?” 

“ Too true,” he sighed. “ It’s a shame, for I’ll 
be away over a month ; but after that you may 


18 


MISS MAMCY. 


expect to see me regularly every Sunday. Oh, 
here’s a good idea ! a little rough on the other 
men, but a ‘snap’ for me — won’t you let me 
make an engagement for all the Sunday walks 
from the middle of February until June !” 

“No,” she returned, with a roguish look in her 
gray eyes ; “ it’s my duty to allow the ‘ other 
men’ some chance.” ^ 

“ Now,” he said, “ I won’t be there for either 

the Assemblies, but there’s the Charity Ball ; if 

you’ll give me four dances I’ll come over for it — ; 

promise ?” i 

) 

“ Yes,” she answered, ‘‘ I promise.’’ Just then ^ 

the conductor shouted the name of “Perry- •: 

man’s!’’ i 

•I 

“ Gracious I” exclaimed Latrobe, “ this is as 3 
far as I can go. Good-bye 1 ” and hastily shak- 
ing hands he was gone. 

About 8.30 Nancy arrived in Philadelphia, "and 
soon was in Miss Shew’s luxurious little boudoir 
toasting her feet before the miniature coal grate, 
talking and laughing with Edith. 


BERKELEY SPRINGS. 


19 


But at home, in the cold, bleak summer-house, 
Jack was kneeling, his face buried in his hands, 
land crying, “Nancy! oh, Nancy! I want you!” 
:We are so apt to forget how much those suffer 
who are left behind. Jack felt a cold nose against 
his cheek, and turning, he saw the dog had fol- 
lowed him there. He threw his arms around Nix’s 
neck and sobbed — yes, he who despised tears — 
and when he slept that night, in his narrow cot- 
bed, his pillow was wet and Nix was nestled 
close to him 


20 


3IISS NANCY, 


CHAPTER 11. 

MRS. RITTENHOUSE’s BALL. 

jy/JES. B. FRANKLIN RITTENHOUSE had 
issued some eight hundred cards for a 
“small dance” on the 4th of January, and very 
grand preparations had been made for the occa-- 
sion. Outside, an awning and two policemen 
distinctly announced that something was going 
on, while the many carriages depositing their 
lovely burdens and then hurrying off to give 
place to others made the announcement even 
more plainly. The vast parlors were a blaze of 
light and a bower of flowers, resounding with the 
gay music that sent the elite of Philadelphia 
society dancing on the polished floors. Mrs. 
Rittenhouse intended this to be the event of the 
season, and certainly she had done all within the 
power of money to make it so. She stood, serene 


3LRS. BITTENIIOUSE^S BALL. 21 

and stately, clad in heavy crimson velvet, at the 
door of the first drawing-room, receiving her 
guests. Her daughter, standing near, dressed in 
dainty white tulle, cut low — ^yes, ve^y low — round 
her thin neck, looked paler and more freckled 
: than usual. This ball was given to Maude — 
given to celebrate her fifth winter in society. In 
fact, Mrs. Rittenhouse was making a great effort 
for Maude, and it would be very strange if she 
failed. Mrs. Rittenhouse was not in the habit of 
failing in what she undertook. Maude had only 
one bouquet, bought out of her own pocket- 
money. The family were beginning to think it 
no joke supplying twenty-dollar bouquets, so this 
year they had rebelled. Maude was getting tired 
and cross. She never enjoyed herself half so 
well anywhere as at her own parties. All the 
girls were having a good time, the ball was at its 
height, and still she was chained to her mother’s 
side. Presently Mrs. Rittenhouse introduced to 
her a young man in irreproachable dress suit and 
immaculate shirt-front. 


22 


inSS JSTAKCY. 


“Ah, what a brilliant scene !” remarked he, 
with happy inspiration. | 

“ Yes,” very languidly, “ the rooms are rather, 


pretty.” 

“ Have you been out much. Miss Ritten- 
house ?” said he, bent on doing his duty. To his 
surprise. Miss Rittenhouse looked angry. She 
thought it was a reference to her five winters. 

“Yes,” stiffly; and then there was no more 
conversation. Suddenly her face brightened — a 
tall, handsome girl was entering the room, 
escorted by a sallow-looking young gentleman, 
and just behind them a pretty stranger. 

“ So kind ot you, dear Mrs. Rittenhouse, to let 
me bring my friend. Miss Jackson — Mrs. Ritten- 
house,” said Edith Shew’s gay voice. 

“Ah, Maude, dear ! My friend Miss Jackson !” 
Maude scarcely nodded, being far more intent on 
their youthful escort; and then in a moment’s 
time Edith had waltzed off with the young man 
in irreproachable costume, while Maude immedi- 
ately followed, happy in the possession of her 


i 

I 






3IRS. BITTENHOUSE^S BALL. 23 
sallow beloved. Thus Nancy was left, solitary 
and alone, standing beside her hostess. Perhaps 
ten minutes passed — ten minutes! they seemed 
as many days to poor, strange Nancy. Would 
they never end ? Oh, if she had only refused to 
come ! and so her bitter thoughts were running 
on when the clear, cold voice of Mrs. Ritten- 
house fell on her ear. 

“ Miss Jackson — Mr. Pyne. Take Miss Jackson 

\ 

to the conservatory and show her the ferns 1” 

There was no resisting this command, so a 
very sulky-looking young man led off bewildered 
Miss Jackson. They wandered through the mag- 
nificent rooms in almost unbroken silence. Mr. 
Pyne was angry and he would not talk — thinking, 
most naturally, that he was “ stuck,” with this 
evidently unacquainted girl, for the evening. 
Nancy soon recovered her self-possession, and 
with it her gay spirits. 

“It’s just beautiful!” she said, looking up 
sweetly at her cross partner. As no direct ques- 
tion was asked, Mr. Pyne felt justified in giving 


24 


mss NANCY. 


no answer. He was very young and very mad. 
<H’m from the country, you know, and we don’t 
have balls there,” still bent on subduing him. 
This time Mr. Pyne suffered a well-bred “Ah !” to 
escape him. Nancy would not give up. 

“Are you fond of shooting ?” she inquired. 

“Yes, moderately so,” beginning to come 
round a little. 

“ I am sure you are a great fisherman.” 

“Why?” in a surprised tone. 

“ Because you are so very fond of quiet.” 

His anger all vanished in a hearty laugh. 

“You’re a tease, I can see,” he returned; “but, 
all the same, I do like fishing ; it’s such cool 
work in summer.” 

‘‘Lazy! lazy I” she cried, shaking her finger at 
him. 

“Nancy! Miss Jackson!” called Edith, “may 
I present Mr. Spruce ?” Mr. Pyne bent over her: 
“ Let me take you to supper ?” 

“Yes,” she smiled, well pleased at her con- 
quest. 


3IRS. BITTENHOUSE^S BALL. 25 
From this time Edith did her duty, nobly 
atoning for her early neglect. Man after man 
was brought up, and Nancy became quite the 
attraction of the evening. She could not be 
called beautiful, but there was a certain winsome 
freshness about her face which, combined with a 
pretty-rounded figure and a sweet Southern voice, 
gave her a certain fascination impossible to de- 
scribe, and yet which exerted its charm over men 
and women alike. But her eyes — deep, soft eyes 
cf gray — darkened by heavy curving lashes, made 
one instinctively exclaim at their loveliness, and 
therein lay her chief, perhaps only, beauty. 

Dance after dance had to be divided, and w'hen 
lucky Mr. Pyne bore her off triumphantly to 
supper, several envious looks w^ere bestow^ed on 
him by the rejected applicants for that favor. 

He put Nancy on the third step, which was, of 
course, not so popular as higher up the stairway, 
being further from the viands — a7zd the gentle- 
men; but owing to the crush it was the best they 
could do. Presently Edith came up, her face 


26 


MISS NANCY, 


radiant. “ Nancy,” she whispered, “ who do you 
think has asked to be presented to you ?” 

‘‘ Who ?” asked Nancy, deeply interested. 

“ Rahl Rittenhouse !” 

Nancy looked puzzled ; being a stranger, she 
did not understand the honor about to be con- 
ferred. Edith laughed. 

“Mr. Pyne,” she said, “just think ! Miss Jack- 
son doesn’t know who Rahl Rittenhouse is !” 
He smiled as he gave Nancy a plentiful supply of 
terrapin and chicken-salad. 

“ Who is he ?” demanded the interested party, 
naturally curious. 

“Well,” returned Mr. Pyne, spreading a napkin 
over her white dress, “he is president, cabinet 
and congress all rolled in one on social matters ; 
he is the dog that watches the Assembly Book ; 
in short, the glory, pride and prop of Philadel- 
phia society.” 

“My gracious!” exclaimed Nancy, “I know 
ril hate him.” 

“ Hush ! here he comes.” 


3niS. BITTUNHOUSE^S BALL. 27 

No wonder he was admired, for he was. very 
goodly to look upon. Of medium height, com- 
pactly built, and a man, every inch of him, from 
the crown of his brown head to the soles of his 
pointed shoes. Perhaps a slightly complaisant 
and a rather supercilious air somewhat impaired 
the expression of his otherwise handsome face; 
but such small defects are easily forgiven in a 
Rittenhouse. A moment more and the introduc- 
tion was effected. Then a novel difficulty pre- 
sented itself to Miss Jackson, — she could think 
of nothing sufficiently bright to say to this great 
man. Wildly she looked around for assistance, 
and, in her confusion, almost upset her plate. 
He caught it dexterously. “ I see our friendship 
bids fair to be platonic!” and smiling at his own 
joke, he seated himself just below her. 

‘"Pm so glad,” she said. ‘‘You are so tall 
you frightened me.” 

The social lion deigned to smile kindly on her 
feeble attempt. 

“What good suppers they have here!” getting 
back her courage. 


28 


IflSS JS^AN-CY. 


He laughed outright. 

“ Do you like terrapin ?” he asked. Happy 
terrapin !” 

''You are making fun of me!” she exclaimed, 
indignantly. 

"Oh! no, I’m not; but that speech was so 
naive !” 

" Well,” she said, demurely, " I’m only a 
country girl, and that’s their role, isn’t it ?” 

Rahl did not reply ; he was beginning to feel 
he had made a mistake in asking to be intro- 
duced to this little fool, and he resolved to escape 
as soon as her partner came back from his bottle 
of champaign. 

" How tired those girls seem,’’ remarked Nancy, 
glancing at some maidens languidly toying with 
their spoons. 

" They are not tired,” he explained ; " they’re 
bored — we all are — I am, too.” 

" Oh, thanks !’’ she returned, with consider- 
able asperity. " So glad I have a soothing effect 
on you.” 


MRS. BITTENHOUSE^S BALL. 29 

“It is not your fault; it’s the life we lead. 
Everything — every night — is just the same; we 
meet the same people, to say the same things,, 
and it’s tiresome. A stranger’s face is a relief, as 
yours has been to us all, this evening.” 

“ Well, but why don’t you always meet new 
people ?” she demanded. 

“ Because we know every one in our own set, 
and we don’t care to meet any one out of it.” 

“And how long have you been doing this — 
just seeing the same people all the time ?” 

“ Oh, ten or twelve years.” 

“ Goodness !” exclaimed the shocked Miss 
Jackson ; “ I don’t see how you stand it.” 

“ Well, that’s the reason we are bored, don’t 
you see ?” more interest coming into his face as 
he watched every expression of the girl’s beautiful 
eyes. 

“ I should go crazy if I had to be with the 
same people a year, or even a month.” 

He smiled at the extravagant statement. 

“ What will you do when you are married ? 
That means, perhaps, fifty years with one person.” 


30 


3IISS 


A slight flush came to her face. 

“ Well, that would be different,” she said, hesi- 
tatingly. 

“Why different?” bent on making the gray 
eyes look at him. 

“ Because,” in a slightly belligerent tone, “ I 
should love him.” 

“ Bah !” he answered, tiying to lead her on ; 
“you don’t believe in love, do you?” 

‘‘Yes, I do” — she looked squarely at him 
now — “and it would be much better for you if 
you believed in it, too. If you were truly in love 
with some girl you wouldn’t think of being 
bored.” 

“The very idea bores me,” he began, in a 
teasing way. 

Nancy was indignant ; he had been laughing 
at her all the time. 

“ I wonder what has become of Mr. Pyne ?” 
she said, with an entire change of manner. 

“ Probably too much champy,” returned Rahl, 
who now wanted to talk with her a little longer. 


3£ES. EITTEXIIOUSE^S BALL, 


31 


He has a very weak head, and I saw several 
men imbibing pretty freely as I came to meet 
you. Don’t you like to sit here ?” 

“ I’m not going to talk to you any more,” she 
said, getting up. “ I’m going to find Edith.’’ 

“You can’t go alone,” rising and offering his 
arm. 

“ I don’t see why I can’t go alone. I do just as 
I please at Berkeley.” 

“ This isn’t Berkeley, and it’s bad form here,” 
he announced, as if settling the question. 

“ And I think it’s bad form to say you are 
bored when I am trying to entertain you.” 

“ Won’t you please forgive that speech ?” he 
asked, pleadingly. 

“No,” she answered, quite seriously; “I will 
forgive neither the speech nor you for making it, 
but ril consider the case at my leisure, and I 
may be induced to forget both. Oh, there’s Mr. 
Pyne! You see he is misjudged; it was hunger 
kept him from me, not champagne.” 

doutef quoth Rahl, in a low voice; “I 


32 


mss JS^ANCY. 


don’t suppose I’ll be fortunate enough to see you 
again this evening ; but will you walk with me 
to-morrow afternoon ? I am going on Miss 
Show’s theatre party Saturday night, and she 
says I may take you. I tell you this to prepare 
you for the number of times you may be forced to 
endure me, and then I ask again will you volunta- 
rily go to walk with me to-morrow.” 

“ Yes,” she returned,” if you will promise to 
fight?” 

He laughed. “ Well, then the battle will begin 
at four precisely.” 

After Mr. Rittenhouse’s grave insinuations, 
Nancy could not help but feel some slight misgiv- 
ing as to Mr. Pyne’s sobriety, when that smiling 
gentleman appeared with a glass of wine. 

“ I have brought you something that will keep 
the roses blooming, Miss Jackson,” he said, grace- 
fully complimenting her brilliant cheeks. 

“Your expedient cannot be a successful one,” 
she retorted, gaily ; “ for I hear you have given it 
a trial, and see how yours have faded.” This 


r 

3IRS, BITTENHOUSWS BALL. 33 
covert allusion passing unchallenged, proved to 
Nancy’s mind that Mr. Pyne was too sensible a 
fellow to enter a contest where his vulnerable 
point had been discovered. 

“ Tell me, Mr. Pyne,” she asked, as they re-^ 
turned to the dancing room, “ who was that lively 
lady sitting on the stairs just above me — the one 
who received such a great deal of attention ? 
Why, do you know she had six or seven men 
talking to her nearly all the time !” 

“ I guess you mean Mrs. DeLancey Bruce.” 

Married !” exclaimed Nancy, with the most 
innocent astonishment in her gray eyes. 

Mr. Pyne laughed ; her surprise was amusing. 

“ Well, a sort of widow, you know — warranted 
article — stamped with the old proprietor’s name. 
See?” 

Nancy did not “ see,” but she had to be con- 
tented with this explanation, for the dancing bad 
recommenced ; and, with the stimulation of a 
very excellent supper and a good deal of cham- 
pagne, it continued till the smallest hours of 
c 


84 


MISS NAMCY. 


the morning. It was Rahl Rittenhouse himself 
who risked his precious health, by rushing from 
the heated rooms, to put them in their carriage 
when, at last, they succeeded in tearing them- 
selves away; and it was Rahl Rittenhouse’s 
haughty voice that condescended to remind Miss 
Jackson of the morrow’s engagement. 

“ Oh, Nancy ! vdiat a success you’ve been,” 
sighed the delighted Edith, unconsciously ac- 
knowledging that she had doubted such a result. 
Something was weighing on Edith’s mind — some- 
thing which might be termed the oppression of 
an unpleasant duty that must be performed. 
There was no shirking it, or all the kind plans for 
Nancy’s pleasure during her absence in the South 
would be frustrated. She must explain the 
humiliating fact that between her Aunt’s — Miss 
Hannah Green’s — friends, residing on Caterpillar 
street, and the people they had just met in Mrs. 
Rittenhouse’s Walnut street mansion, there stood 
an impassable barrier, erected by social prejudice, 
strengthened by uncongeniality, and of which 


3IBS, BIl^TEBfHOUSE^S BALL. 


35 


i, the outward and visible sign was Market street. 
I Edith had determined that no one should know 
of her friend’s intended visit to this aunt until 
Nancy’s pretty face and charm of manner had 
made for her friends brave enough to break 
through any amount of barriers and prejudices 
for the sake of seeing her. She mmst explain all 
of this, or Nancy would spoil everything by 
giving her address before the proper time. Edith 
shuddered as she pictured the well-bred horror 
with which Mrs. Rittenhouse’s aristocratic nephew 
would receive the intelligence that he had actually 
been attentive to a girl who expected to visit 
Caterpillar street. There was no use procrasti- 
nating, so Edith, with the uncomfortable feeling 
that she was about to trample ruthlessly on the 
pride of a sensitive nature, started in bravely and 
ended triumphantly. Poor Nancy was convinced 
that Caterpillar street meant social death. The 
belief cost a great deal, but, like merchandise 
paid for, it was hers to keep. A large amount of 
pride went into the bargain, also the good 


36 


3IISS JS'ANCY. 


opinion she had formed of the acquaintances 
^ made during the evening. They were a narrow- 
minded people, she thought, but, withal, kind and 
agreeable. She quite agreed with Edith, that it 
would be wise to make some firm friends who 
would add to her pleasure while the Shews were 
in Florida. 

Even after the lucid explanation given her, 
Nancy could not fully comprehend how the whole 
northern region of a city, confessedly more beau- 
tiful than any other portion, could be so banned. 
Certainly there must be many cultivated people 
living there, in spite of Edith’s assurance to the 
contrary. 

Nancy thought a good deal about the barrier 
and Caterpillar street, and, perhaps, a little 
about Rahl Rittenhouse, as she tossed, sleeplessly, 
on the small brass bedstead. Gradually there 
came a transformation, horrible to relate. She — 
Nancy Jackson — is turning into a caterpillar, a 
handsome, red-and-black, furry one, but so un- 
^^PPy> out her miserable existence near 


3IBS. BITTEmiOUSE^S BALL. 37 

the curbstone — too proud to crawl around with 
her own kind, only longing to mingle with the 
throng of fine people that pass her to and fro. 
Presently her heart — for even caterpillars have 
hearts — begins to beat. A tall, fashionable gentle- 
man is coming towards her, airily swinging his 
silver-topped cane. Certainly she has seen that 
haughty face somewhere; — why, of course, it is 
Rahl Rittenhouse. The sun on his polished 
boots dazzles her eyes, and before she can crawl 
beyond his reach he has noticed her, and, with a 
smile of contemptuous pity, raises his foot and 
coolly tramples her to death. Nancy woke with 
a gasp, to find the bright light of glorious mid- 
day shining in her eyes. She smiled as a ray of 
sunlight from the crystal mirror flashed across 
her bed. RahPs boots had shone much the same 
way in her dream. That dream made little 
impression on her at the time, but later, when the 
foreshadowed events did happen, she remembered 
all its smallest details. 

The memory of Edith’s revelation was still so 


38 


MISS MAMCY. 


fresh that pride and policy must needs have 
another contest in Miss Nancy’s mind as she 
started out on the promised walk in the after- 
noon with Rahl Rittenhouse. Perhaps it was the 
echo of that battle which made her speeches so 
sharp with wit or keen with sarcasm. Pride was 
not dead though policy had gained another vic- 
tory, and Nancy ended once more by agreeing 
with Edith, that to make friends was best. No, 
indeed, pride was not dead, for it carried her head 
very high and caused her manner, at times, to be 
extremely haughty ; yet policy’s superior strength 
made her withal so winningly sweet and gracious 
that the blase man at her side was wholly fascin- 
ated by her versatility. The knowledge that she 
was interesting Rahl Rittenhouse, the great social 
connoisseur, whose voice, unless she could charm 
it into silence, would be the first to cry Out 
against her, and the fact that he in turn was 
doing his best to be agreeable, gave Nancy a 
grim sort of pleasure. ‘Tf I can only make this 
man like me,” she thought, “ he will do a great 


MBS, BITTEJSTHOVSE'S BALL. 39 

deal towards breaking up the monotony of Cater- 
pillar street; for if people there are so uncon- 
genial I shan’t have any friends at all.” 

“ It is a pity you are going away before the 
Assembly, Miss Jackson,” Mr. Rittenhouse said, 
as they walked homewards. It would give me so 
much pleasure to send you the Book.” 

Nancy’s heart gave a bound ; here was just the 
chance she most longed for. 

“That is exceedingly kind of you,” she made 
answer, in as careless a tone as she could com- 
mand; “and since it would really give you 
pleasure to get me an invitation I can afford you 
the opportunity, for after the Shew’s leave for 
Florida I expect to visit my aunt.” 

“How delightful!” he exclaimed, honestly 
pleased that this charming study was to remain 
within his reach. “And how long will you be 
with Miss Shew?” he asked, as they stood on the 
steps. 

“ Until Monday morning ; you may come Sun- 
day, to say good-bye. This, you know, is only 


40 MISS NANCY, 

au revoir ; you haven’t forgotten, have you? that 
you fall to. my share at the theatre party, to- 
morrow night ? ” 

“Forgotten it? How could I? But we will 
never say good-bye, Miss Jackson — always au 
revoir, — unless, of course, by your will and com- 
mand.” 

The door had been opened, and as Nancy held 
out her hand, a little thrill of pleasure shot 
through her at her successful subjugation of this 
celebrated lion. He took the hand, pressed it 
gently, while he looked smilingly down in the 
bright eyes, raised his hat and was gone. 

Edith had told her that Rahl never frequented 
“Teas,” so, it must be confessed, Nancy’s interest 
in that species of entertainment was very slight 
indeed ; nevertheless, being one among fifteen 
“buds,” invited to receive that afternoon with the 
Misses Nopkins, she contrived to enjoy herself 
remarkably well. Mr. Pyne was present; this 
being his “coming out’’ winter, he considered it 
wise to accept every invitation and to be polite to 


3IES, BITTENHOUSE^S BALL. 


41 


everybody. Being very susceptible, Nancy bad 
made a great impression on his waxen heart. 
He held her fan, paid her glaring compliments, 
and, during the dance after^vards, claimed a waltz 
every time poor Nancy stopped for breath. The 
irrepressible Mr. Spruce, seated in a perilous posi- 
tion on the spiral end of the banisters, clutched 
her arm as they passed him, to remark, ‘‘that 
some one was pining for her.” Nancy resented 
the freedom taken with her arm, until Mr. Pyne 
assured her no one ever took offence at Syd. 
Spruce. 

“You know,” continued Tommy, confidentially, 
“ he’s a splendid fellow at a small party ; keeps 
things going, though he is too ‘fresh.’ He’s 
always asked to dinners, too; for people must 
have some one to make them laugh. It helps 
digestion, and a host would as soon think of 
leaving out oysters on the half-shell.” 

At this juncture Spruce’s merry black eyes 
and red face thrust themselves between Nancy’s 
shoulder and her companion’s. 


42 


mss NANCY. 


“ Talking about me, Pynney, boy ? That’s all 
right ; but allow me to reply, and don’t tell her 
any lie, or you know very well, you will be bound 

to go to . Now, Miss Jackson, come and 

dance with the poet.” But here Edith insisted 
it was time to go home. Spruce sighed, patheti- 
cally, “Adieu, then, till to-morrow, removes from 
me this sorrow, and I see you again, for I’m 
coming, sunshine or rain.” 

The next day was spent in a darkened room ; 
for so much gayety had given our heroine a 
splitting headache. At night her eyes were all 
the brighter for their rest, and her pleasure in the 
opera brought a bright color to her cheeks. 
Unlike most of the party, she followed the scene 
before her closely, drinking in every tone of 
Patti’s voice. Then, as the last note of the grand 
aria died away, to be followed by a storm of ap- 
plause from the vast multitude, Nancy, carried 
away by excitement, impulsively seized the gor- 
geous bouquet by her side and flung it at the 
diva’s feet. It was only as she saw them borne 


MRS, BITTEmiOUSE^S BALL. 


43 


off amid many other flowers that she realized 
that she had prized them too much to lose them, 
and Rahl bit his lip in vexation at this wanton 
waste of his twenty-five dollars. Perhaps that 
was his reason for being less devoted to Nancy 
during the supper that followed the opera, and 
for making his neglected cousin Maude the de- 
lighted recipient of many little attentions to 
which she was by no means accustomed. 

“ Never mind,” soliloquized Nancy, as she set- 
tled herself to sleep that night; “it was only 
jealousy; and I will be real nice to him to- 


morrow. 


44 


inss JS^ANCY. 


CHAPTER III. 

CATERPILLAR STREET. 

Sunday evening Rahl presented himself in 
the Shew’s drawing-room, at eight o’clock 
precisely. He was not in the habit of calling so 
early — in fact, seldom called at all ; but somehow 
this 'girl interested him and he wanted to talk 
with her as much as possible. She did not 
always please him ; she was too out-spoken — too 
candid, very often, but not in a disagreeable way, 
for the softness of her voice, together with her 
pretty accent, robbed such speeches of their brus- 
querie. To-night she was quiet and subdued, 
very different from the day before. 

Do you feel tired ?” he asked, pulling his 
easy chair as near hers as permissible. 

Yes,” she returned; “I have been up too late 


CATERPILLAU STREET. 45 

since I’ve been here, and I’m not accustomed to 
it ; besides, I’m low-spirited.” 

“ What makes you ? are you homesick ?” 

Yes,” she answered, her lips quivering; “I’m 
homesick for Jack and Aunt Sallie — and all of 
them. I have a good mind to pawn my clothes 
for a return ticket.” 

“Who is Jack?” demanded Rahl, in an inter- 
ested tone. 

All her blues suddenly vanished, for here was a 
chance to tease. 

“ Jack ? — oh ! ” in a very coy manner, playing 
with her fringe. “ I don’t know how to explain.” 

“And you like him — this Jack?” asked Rahb 
who, by-the-way, would have made a good inter- 
viewer. 

“Like him? I love him!” with energy. 

“And you, with your fine ideas of love and 
honor, think it is a nice thing to come here and 
make other men interested in you ?” 

“Who is interested in me, pray?” demanded 
Nancy, wickedly. 


46 


31ISS NANCY, 


Mr. Rittenhouse was rather at a loss; but a 
bright idea struck him. i 

“Why, there’s that young Pyne; any one can I 
see he is just wild about you. What will he say J 
when he hears of Jack?” | 

“Well,” replied she, thinking the joke had gone I 
far enough, “ he will say that Jack is my brother, | 
and I ought to love him. Now, confess, I did | 
fool you! Who’s that in the hall? Oh, good- 
evening, Mr. Spruce — so glad to see you I Edith, 
here is Mr. Spruce.” 

Then conversation became general, while each 
man tried to outsit the others. Finally, eleven | 
struck, and Nancy, being worn out, resolved to 
take matters in her own hands. 

“This maybe ‘bad form’ in Philadelphia; but,” 
laughing, “at Berkeley I should give a strong 
hint about the hour.” 

“Well, Miss Shew,” declared Sidney Spruce, 
“this is the first time I have ever been ‘fired’ 
from your house ; but I shan’t go unless the other 
fellows do.” 


CATEEPILLAR STBEET. 


47 


‘‘As for me,” said Mr. Rittenhouse, “I have a 
very important communication to make to Miss 
Jackson; so, with her permission, I will stay 
until it is made.” 

“ How strangely mysterious !” cried Nancy. 
“Let us go where it can’t be overheard.” 

“Most certainly an offer!” said Mr. Spruce; 
then improvising — 

“’T was Sunday eve, at the stroke of eleven. 

When Rahlie determined to enter Heaven; 

But tho’ loved by men and adored by ladies. 

He was rejected — so lives now in Hades !’’ 

“Wonderful!” cried the two concerned, clap- 
ping loudly; “better go into the poetry business.” 

“ Miss Jackson,” said Mr. Rittenhouse, turning 
his back on the lively Mr. Spruce, “ I heard you 
say you were going to spend the winter in town; 
then may I have a walk three weeks from to- 
day?” . 

“ Yes,” smiled Nancy, very much pleased ; for 
she knew now what an honor any attention from 
Rahl Rittenhouse was. “ I’m not going to be 


48 


inss JSTAI^CY, 


here though ; for Edith starts South on Tuesday. 
I intend to visit my aunt.” 

He had taken out an engagement book, and 
paused, pencil in hand, to ask, ‘^What is the 
address ?” 

“Caterpillar street — 2013 is the number.” She 
gave it with an inward tremor, watching him 
narrowly; 

No quiver of his fingers betrayed the tremen- 
dous shock he had received ; but as soon as 
possible he took his leave. The words were 
ringing in his ears and dancing before his eyes — 
2013 Caterpillar street! He felt angry, indignant, 
and, in the heat of his wrath, one or two rather 
strong adjectives escaped him as he tore the leaf 
from his memorandum-book, with the resolution 
to blot from his mind the girl whose name it 
bore. A man in his position could not afford to 
have anything to do with a young lady visiting 
north of Market street. It was with these senti- 
ments that he finally composed himself to sleep. 

On Monday afternoon Nancy arrived at her 


cateufillaji stbjeet, 49 

aunt’s little brick house, with its spotless marble 
steps and prim facings. Miss Hannah received 
her kindly ; but it was with rather a forlorn feel- 
ing she took possession of the third-story front 
room. A day or two passed in the most un 
broken quiet. The change from her gay life at 
Edith’s was too sudden for her not to feel it 
keenly, and it ivas with -dismay she looked for- 
ward to a long, dull winter. Of course, she did 
not now expect to see much of Edith’s friends, 
and Miss Hannah’s, probably, would be uncon- 
genial. 

Miss Green was a bright, sharp woman, very 
much interested in politics and women’s rights — - 
particularly suffrage — and she had devoted her 
busy life to the advancement of the latter and the 
purifying of the former. Her few friends were 
bent on much the same ends, yet even they 
called her a little peculiar. 

One evening, not long after Nancy’s arrival, a 
political acquaintance called on Miss Hannah, 
who, having made herself as bewitching as possi- 


50 


-MISS NAWCY. 


ble in a wonderful cap and gown, descended to 
the parlor, leaving her niece up-stairs. Presently 
the cap was stuck out of the door, and a voice 
called up : “ Nancy ! there’s a young man here, 
and I’m going to send him up-stairs:” then, in a 
lower tone, “Dick, go right along.” 

Nancy had just time to settle herself in the 
sitting-room when the “young man” appeared. 
He was a dapper little pink-and-white specimen, 
illumined by a bright blue tie, and a massive 
watch-chain strong enough to hang him by. He 
was frightened, too, and advanced very timidly 
into the room. 

“Miss Jackson,” he explained, nervously cling- 
ing to the watch-chain, “ your aunt sent me up.” 

“ Good-evening !” Nancy said, kindly; “ take this 
chair.” 

He sank into the comfortable seat and stam- 
mered — “ My name’s Chivick.” 

“You’ve such an advantage over me,” she 
smiled, wishing she could bring relief to his em- 
barrassment. “Jackson is such a common name, 


CATEBPILLAB STBEET, 51 

while yours is so rare. Chivick — it sounds pret- 
tily, too.” 

He was getting better. 

“You may change your name,” he suggested. 

Nancy laughed heartily. 

“To be sure,” she said; “but suppose I never 
get the chance.” 

“If you don’t, nobody will,” he answered, with 
a little bow. Mr. Chivick prided himself on his 
manners. “ Miss Jackson, I came on a little 
errand for my sister.” 

“I was so sorry to miss her visit, to-day,” said 
Nancy, who was enjoying this small specimen as 
an interruption to another monotonous evening, 
and unconsciously trying to make an impression 
on him. 

“ Em. was very much disappointed ; she wanted 
to ask you to a small music ale, on next Tuesday 
evening.” 

“ So kind !” murmured Nancy. 

“You see. Miss Jackson,” sitting bolt-upright 
in the lounging-chair, like a wax figure wound 


52 


3nss JS'ANCY. 


up for the occasion, “it’s given to Ed. and Marne, 
and is to be very small. You probably heard of 
the reception we gave them about two weeks 
ago. Jacobs was the caterer. Em. thought you 
might like to meet them socially.” 

“ What is your sister’s married name ?” asked 
Nancy. 

“ Mrs. Bolter,” he answered, proudly. He be- 
longs to an elegant family ; we’re so much pleased 
at the match. May I tell Em. you’ll come ?” 

“ Yes,” she said, “ I’ll certainly come. But you 
are not going ? it’s very early !” 

He had risen from his chair, and was clinging 
to the table. Not being quite prepared for her 
sudden speech, he just managed to stammer out — 
“ I hear Miss Green saying good-night to my 
friend, so I must go,” and he retreated, bowing 
profoundly. 

Aunt Hannah was highly delighted at this 
attention on the part of the Chivicks, and was 
very particular about Nancy’s appearance Tues- 
day evening. She would not allow her to start 
until nearly nine o’clock. 


CATERPILLAR STREET. 53 

“ They’ll like you better if you come late,” 
she said, in her brusque, good-natured way. So 
Nancy waited. When, at last, she arrived on the 
scene of action — or, in other words, the Chivick’s 
house — she found it a blaze of light, and feeble 
sounds from the piano, floating up to the dressing- 
room, plainly announced that the musicale had 
commenced. 

Nancy was in high spirits, and, I regret to say, 
prepared to get much amusement from this affair. 
Mr. Chivick, attired in full dress-suit, including a 
pair of white kid gloves, was waiting on the 
landing to escort her to the parlor. All the 
timidity of the other evening had vanished. Dick 
was afraid of nothing, either human or super- 
natural, in his ancestral halls and surrounded by 
his devoted family. He gave a little skip as she 
approached, offering her his arm, with the words : 
“May I have the honor?” and so led her down 
into the parlor. 

There were several people sitting stiffly round 
the large room ; but the Chivick family rose and 


54 


3IISS liANCY. 


came forward ejt masse to greet her. She was, 
evidently, the honored guest of the musicale. 
Mrs. Chivick, a tall, stout woman, with a very 
high color, gave her a loud kiss, as she said, 
warmly: “Tm real glad you’ve come. Dick’s 
done nothing but talk about you. This is Mr. 
Chivick.” 

He was of diminutive stature, and of rather 
oily appearance, while something in his manner 
seemed to say: “What will you have to-day, 
ma’am ?” 

Em. and Marne, having embraced her cordially, 
expressed, in a somewhat noisy fashion, their 
joy at meeting her ; and then, to Nancy’s great 
relief, a slim young lady rose to sing. Dick 
escorted her to a sofa, where he took his stand 
by her side. The slim young lady had a remark- 
ably powerful voice, but a poor articulation, so 
that the words of her song became a matter of 
speculation to the audience. Presently Dick bent 
down to whisper, gravely : “ Isn’t the sentiment 
refined ?” 


CATEBPILLAE STREET. 55 

Wicked Nancy almost burst out laughing ; but 
she managed to reply, in the same confidential 
tone: “Yes, and it is so charmingly rendered.” 

Dick resumed his occupation of curling his tiny 
moustache until his own piece came. It was a 
flute and piano duet, in which he played the flute 
with a good deal of quavering indecision, as 
though attempting to recapture each note as it 
escaped ; but there was something almost pathetic 
in the delight Mrs. Chivick took in her son’s per- 
formance. Her eyes never wandered from his 
face, as she pounded the time with her substantial 
foot, and, when he stopped, she led the applause 
by clapping vigorously. A melancholy song fol- 
lowed, called “ Farewell,” delivered by a melan- 
choly maiden of some thirty-five winters, and 
which, probably, referred to her youth ; and so, 
almost without intermission, the music continued 
until eleven o’clock, when supper was announced. 
Dick tripped up to Nancy, and together they led 
the procession into the dining-room. Supper was 
evidently not a thing to be trifled with or slighted. 


56 


MISS NANCY. 


Each lady spread a huge napkin over her 
dress; then fell systematically to work to do full 
justice to the plentiful repast ; the gentlemen 
pursued much the same business-like course. 
Dr. Bolter fully lived up to his name, and his 
wife did her best to show she was now a member 
of the family. When the ladies had finished, 
Mrs. Chivick led the way down stairs. 

“ The gentlemen don’t like to eat before the 
girls,” she explained to Nancy, drawing her down 
beside her on the sofa. Nancy had not noticed 
any such bashfulness on the part of the gentle- 
men ; but she refrained from saying so. 

“Do you see Marne’s weddin’ presents?” Mrs. 
Chivick asked, pointing to a photograph behind 
them. 

On close inspection Nancy perceived what it 
represented, and, not being able to admire it, she 
could only say : “ Such a novel idea !” 

“ Yes,” returned Mrs. Chivick, well pleased ; 
“there were such a lot of them, and so ele- 
gant, that a gentleman friend of Dr. Bolter’s, 


CATERPILLAR STREET. 57 

in the business, persuaded us to have them 
taken.” Then pointing with her fat forefinger: 
“That’s our silver, and that’s the tea-service his 
folks gave her; my, but it’s handsome!” 

“ Yes,” exclaimed Mrs. Bolter, who was stand- 
ing by ; “ they did it so handsome that you and 
pa were ashamed, and gave me the silver.” 

“ Now, Marne Chivick,” her mother retorted, 
angrily, getting very red, “ that’s down-right 
mean. Your father’s ready and willin’ to give 
each of his children the same as he give you, and 
you’ve no right to talk that way ; for we’ve set 
you up in housekeepin’, and given Dr. Bolter all 
our practice.” 

<< Hush, ma 1” said Marne, mortified at this dis- 
closure of family secrets ; “ I was only joking.” 

“My!” exclaimed Mrs. Chivick, wishing the 
girls would let her have her dress looser ; “ I’d 
like to hear some pretty song; but I know” — 
seeing Mrs. Bolter’s warning look — “I know a 
person can’t sing after a hearty meal.” 

“Hush, ma! that’s not polite,” said Em., hastily 
in a low voice. 


58 


3IISS JS^AKCY. 


Mrs. Chivick was tired of being corrected by ! 
her daughters, so she spoke out sharply ; “ Well, : 

I don’t grudge them the food, Em. Chivick ! I 
wasn’t a-sayin’ that. You and Marne always trip 
me up so. I only wish your father had a let me 
had terrapin ; but he said, for a few people like 
this, croquets and cream was plenty and ample.’’ 

“ What beautiful weather we are having,” said 
Em., hurriedly, to Nancy. 

“ Yes, very fine.” 

Nancy wanted to go home; the novelty having 
worn off, she was tired. Fortunately, an oppor- 
tunity presented itself almost immediately. Mrs. i 

i 

Bolter came up to say, with conscious pride : 

“ Ma, I must go ; the doctor has been sent for. 
The Brown’s baby has convulsions.” 

“Why you don’t say so ; its early, but I sup- 
pose you’ll have to go. You see,” turning to 
Nancy, “he’s a young doctor, and can’t afford 
to lose a patient.” 

Nancy at once decided to go with them, and, 
in spite of much opposition on the part of Mrs. 


CATEBPILLAR STREET, 69 

Chivick, she departed, leaving Dick bitterly dis- 
appointed that he was not permitted to accom- 
jpany her home. 

I The next day Nancy came to breakfast with a 
determined expression on her face. Her aunt 
merely looked up from the paper to say “ Good- 
morning!” and the meal proceeded in silence. 
Until that newspaper was finished, and Miss Green 
showed a disposition to talk, Nancy knew she 
might just as well keep quiet. But as the politi- 
cal editorials happened to be short. Miss Hannah 
laid aside the paper in the midst of breakfast and 
said : ^‘Well, did you have a pleasant time?” 

Nancy mentally braced herself before she an- 
swered : They were as kind as possible, and did 
everything they could to make me enjoy it ; but 
the truth is. Aunt Hannah, we are totally uncon- 
genial, so the only pleasure I had was in laughing 
at them, and I don’t think that is right.” 

Humph!” said Miss Hannah, grimly, ‘'pity 
you didn’t come here first, and then visit your 
stylish friends afterwards.” 


GO 


mss miNCY. 


<<It isn’t that at all,” replied Nancy, feelinffl 
the fight had commenced, and determined to 
stand her ground. “ I don’t care where people 
live; but I like them to be cultivated and refined, 
and I’m sure there must be such families up here.”j 

Miss Green was buried in the paper, so there' 
was more silence for, perhaps, fifteen minutes. 
Then, as they arose to leave the table, she ex- 
claimed, banging her chair on the floor : “ You 
needn’t have anything to do with the Chivicks ; 
but if you get lonely, and your stylish friends 
leave you in the lurch, don’t blame me for your 
dull time.” 

‘‘I’m perfectl}^fentent alone with you,” said 
Nancy, unconsciously exaggerating. 

Miss Green laughed. ^‘That’s a rash state- 
ment, Nancy,” she continued, the while sprinkling 
her plants from a huge watering-pot. “You do 
remind me of your mother. She was a wheed- 
ling, taking kind of girl, spite of her plain face, 
and tried to make every man, woman and child 
love her. You get your brains from her side of 


CATERPILLAU STREET, 


61 


the house, and your looks from your father. We 
Greens are a hard-featured lot,” with that curious 
family pride people take in their failings. Nancy 
was absently plucking some dead leaves from a 
fish-geranium as Miss Green went on: “Your 
father is a shiftless kind of man; he and I are 
very good friends at a distance,” with a short, 
dry laugh. 

“I’m sure,” broke in Nancy, politely, “he has 
the greatest respect for you.” 

This seemed to amuse Miss Hannah exceed- 
ingly. “ He has — has he — respect for me ?” she 
exclaimed. “ The last time we met he told me I 
was an old fool, and I ordered ,him out of the 
house.” 

Nancy drew herself up; humility was not 
among her virtues. “ In that case I had better 
leave, too.” 

This amused Miss Hannah still more. 

“You don’t suppose he went, do you? — not 
Captain J. It takes more than that to make him 
move.” Then seeing Nancy was really offended. 


62 


31ISS NANCY, 


she patted her kindly on the shoulder. Don’t 
be a goose, child,” she said ; “ do you suppose he 
would have allowed you to come if it hadn’t been 
all right ?” And this had to content Nancy. 

A few minutes later Miss Green spoke, in her 
abrupt fashion: “There are nice people up here; 
but I don’t know them, and, the fact is, the 
Chivicks are about my only friends; and they 
won’t give me up. Will you really be satisfied 
with me?” 

“Yes,” answered Nancy, touched by this appeal 
from her self-contained aunt. “ You will be plenty 
of company for me ; besides. I’m never lonely.” 
And she thought she never was 


THE ASSEMBLY BOOK, 


63 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE ASSEMBLY BOOK. 

Sunday afternoon when, according to 
! agreement, she should have gone walking 

with Rahl Rittenhouse, Nancy sat alone in her 
aunt’s little parlor. There were tears in her eyes, 
I and many more in her handkerchief. I regret to 
, add, they were not emblems of sorrow, but of 
anger, indignation and wounded pride. She had 
fully expected him to keep his engagement, 
though she had seen nothing of him during the 
three long weeks since she came to Caterpillar 
street ; but she excused his not calling on the 
ground of his many social duties. A few minutes 
before, as she sat there patiently waiting to 
receive him, a small boy had brought a note for 
^'Miss Jackson.” Here Nancy swallowed her 


64 


3nss JS'ANCY. 


tears, picked up the fashionable epistle from the | 
floor, where she had flung it in her passion, and 
read it once more : — 

Dear Miss Jackson: I regret extremely 
that a temporary indisposition forces me to beg that 
our engagement to walk, this afternoon, be post- 
poned. I am also deeply grieved that the Assembly 
Book was closed — the strangers’ list being completely 
filled — before I had an opportunity of sending in 
your name. Be assured, my dear Miss Jackson, that 
the many friends you made while amongst us will 
mourn your absence next Friday much more than 
you could regret the Assembly. 

** Yours very sincerely, 

^‘Rahl Rittenhouse.” 

** Sunday.” 

Poor Nancy once more resorted to her hand- 
kerchief. She was furious at herself for ever 
having wasted a thought on such a man; she was 
indignant that she had ever allowed herself to ex- 
pect him, and to look forward, as she certainly had, 
to his coming. She was mortified — oh, so deeply 
mortified! — at the cool and tardy manner in 


: THE ASSEMBLY BOOH 65 

which he had announced that he could have 
nothing further to do with her. Just as though 
he had totally forgotten her existence, too, until 
reference to his engagement book showed her 
X name for a walk that day. ; 

: “ Oh !” muttered Nancy through her set teetl\ 

^ if I only had the chance to make him suffer for 

this ! And I liked him, too ! But he isn’t an 
i honorable man or a real gentleman, or he would 
keep an appointment, at no matter what cost. I 
know what he is,” viciously; “he’s a coward, 
afraid of what his associates might say if he 
I kept his word to a girl on Caterpillar street.’^ 
This last conclusion so pleased Miss Jackson that 
she came very near showing her dimples in a 
smile, while she slowly tore the hateful note into 
the smallest possible fragments. “There!” she 
said. “ Mr. R.’s communication and my friendship 
I for him go to pieces together.” Then she quietly 
[ returned to Miss Green’s room — satisfied that 
I lady’s curiosity as to why the gentleman had not 
come, by grimly announcing his very serious 


66 


3nss NANCY, 


illness, and settled herself to write the usual Sun- 
day letters. Jack’s epistle, fearfully and wonder- 
fully composed, and the first he had ever sent her, 
almost summoned back the banished tears. She 
was homesick, and Jack was dearer to her than 
anything else in the wide world. She could not 
doubt his love while she held that letter in her 
hand, written and smeared by the sweat of his 
brow, and necessitating the cleanest of hands; 
and washing those grimy members was always a 
trying ordeal to poor Jack. She knew — for her 
father had told her — that Jack had commenced 
that letter just one day after she left home. She 
smiled, though there was a big lump in her 
throat, as she thought of the time and labor ex- 
pended since then. When she had answered it, 
and her father’s too, she pulled a third from her 
pocket, and, with a little flush on her cheeks, set 
about composing a reply. 

This letter was written in a large, bold hand, 
entirely different from Mr. Rittenhouse’s chiro- 
graphy. It began : “My Dear Miss Nancy,” and 


THE ASSE3IBLY BOOK. 


67 


closed, “Ever Yours, Furness Latrobe.” It con- 
tained, besides a good deal of nonsense, the 
announcement that he would call for Miss Jack- 
son, the night of the 29th, at half-past nine p.m., 
to do himself the pleasure of taking her to the 
Charity Ball. 

“ I wonder,” thought Nancy, bitterly, “ if he 
knows I live north of that barrier ; at any rate, I 
can tell him before I accept his invitation.” This 
was a mere reflection on Mr. Rittenhouse; for she 
had known hearty, careless Latrobe too well at 
Berkeley, during the past summer, not to feel 
confident that a dozen barriers could not interfere 
with him. As she finished the bright little note 
of acceptance, and threw aside the pen, the two 
men who had so lately written to her stood out 
plainly in her mind. Certainly they were both 
brilliant men of the world, and both wonderfully 
attractive, Rahl more so, to a country girl like 
Nancy, owing to his polished manners and ex- 
alted position as an acknowledged leader of the 
world of society. It is much more pleasing to 


68 


MISS MANGY. 


any girl, city or country bred, to make a conquest 
of the leader than to captivate the led. The 
stronger an enemy, the harder the fight and 
more glorious the victory. Yet Latrobe’s honest 
manhood, his abhorrence of anything small and 
dishonorable, could not fail to have their charm 
with a girl of Nancy’s frank disposition. She 
imagined how he would laugh at a man who 
could have such fearful respect for a silly, local 
prejudice; she began to feel sorry for Rahl, as 
her sex always will for the weak and ridiculed. 
Then, with a sudden revulsion of feeling, as the 
memory of his treatment returned: “Sorry for 
Rahl ? no indeed !” She would never, never be 
sorry for him ; so she would join in Latrobe’s 
laugh at the heartless snob. 

“ Now,” she said to herself, very firmly, “when 
he comes up to me at the Charity Ball — for, of 
course, he will have politeness enough for that — 1 
shall keep my temper; but I shall not give him. 
a single dance. Oh! I know what I’ll do,” and. 
she laughed gleefully; “if Mrs. Bolter agrees to 


THE ASSEMBLY BOOK. 


69 


chaperon me, I’ll introduce my fine Mr. Ritten- 
house to that gay woman of fashion.” 

These pleasant thoughts were interrupted by 
Mr. Chivick’s card, delivered by the smiling 
Bridget, with the question, “ Please, ma’am, shall 
I put another plate for supper?” 

'‘Yes,” Nancy replied, for she knew little Dick 
was stationary till ten o’clock. His visits were 
getting more suspiciously frequent every week. 


70 


MISS NANCY, 


CHAPTER V. 

CHARITY BALL. 

j^JISS HANNAH’S ancient clock on the 
stairs chimed out in mournful numbers nine 
o’clock, which, of course, meant half-past nine ; for 
the aged timepiece had been in its teens with the 
century, and, like its old human contemporaries, 
had great difficulty in keeping up with the times. 

As the last stroke rang out, Nancy put the 
final pin in the roses on her shoulder; then 
leaning slightly forward, with her hands loosely 
clasped, surveyed herself minutely in the long, 
old-fashioned glass. The criticism must have 
been very severe ; for there was a little frown on 
her white forehead, and she changed the crimson 
roses from her shoulder to her belt. In that 
position they were evidently more pleasing; for 


CHABITY BALL. 71 

the frown disappeared and a smile of satisfaction 
took its place. Well she might smile at the 
sweet reflection; for the India mulle fitted the 
pretty figure to perfection, then fell in a cascade 
of lace to the tiny buckled shoes, — nothing to 
relieve its creamy whiteness save the great bunch 
of Jacqueminot roses at her waist. As a peal 
from the front-door bell rang out in the stillness, 
Aunt Hannah walked in to give her opinion 
of the completed toilet ; then Nancy gathered up 
her three bouquets and tripped gaily down the 
stairs to meet Mr. Latrobe. 

Perhaps some little attention is due this 
neglected hero, not alone as the escort of so 
sweet a lady, but on his own particular account, 
as a gentleman of unusual character, as an im- 
portant actor in this little domestic drama, and as 
a lover loyal and true. He stood six feet one in 
his patent leathers, this Tuesday evening of the 
great ball, his curly head just escaping the low 
brass chandelier. His blue eyes had an inex- 
tinguishable twinkle, as though making a constant 


72 


3fISS NANCY. 


effort to keep the large mouth smiling; when he 
laughed it was so whole-hearted and ringing that 
the desire to join in was irresistible. Yet, in 
spite of the merry eyes and jovial laugh, you 
knew the instant you saw him that both eyes and 
face could melt to almost womanly tenderness 
whenever the large heart within felt moved. 
Though his years numbered fully twenty-five, he 
had never entirely outgrown his boyhood, and 
was apt to carry his hands in his trousers pockets, 
or wear his hat on an angle at the back of his 
head. He had been, in his day, the most popular 
man at college, and, strangely enough, the favor- 
iteism had not spoiled him. It was a permanent 
popularity, too, founded on his kind-hearted geni- 
ality and almost unfailing good humor, though 
the fact that he could knock any fellow out in 
one round, that he took the lead in all athletics, 
and that he had some brains in the bargain, made 
a combination unusual enough to exact admira- 
tion. When he left Princeton, in the May of his 
senior year, to attend his father’s death-bed, the 


CHABITY BALL. 


73 


boys accompanied him in a body to the junction, 
and for a month following wore the crape sup- 
plied by one of his chief mourners. 

Such was the man Nancy greeted with rather 
a commonplace “ I’m so glad to see you, and 
oh !” — with just an instant’s pause — I’m very 
much obliged for the flowers. It was lovely of 
you to send me cut ones, and a bouquet, too.” 

Here, as she paused, Mr. Latrobe took occasion 
to remark on the number she had received. 

“Yes,” she said, with a little smile, “I am for- 
tunate. Mr. Chivick sent me this variegated 
bunch, and the violets are anonymous.” 

Yes, Nancy, anonymous; but you know very 
well who sent them, and pride should cry out to 
you to leave them at home did you not look on 
them as a good omen for the evening. 

Every one has, of course, heard of conscience- 
money, so it will be easy to understand the senti- 
ment which prompted Rahl Rittenhouse to send 
that fragrant bouquet of conscience-flowers to the 
girl he had treated so shabbily. She might 


74 


MISS MAJSrCY. 


doubt their source — most probably she would 
doubt it; but he felt a certain comfortable satis- 
faction in sending them. 

“ Pray, who is Mr. Chivick ?” inquired the tall 
young man, feeling absurdly jealous, and trying 
not to show it. 

Nancy laughed. “ He’s a little, pink-and-white 
fellow, with a very large heart and a great deal 
of mother.” 

Mr. Latrobe had an early opportunity to judge 
for himself of the youth in question, as he was 
awaiting them in the lobby of the Academy, 
where the ball is annually held. What he saw 
was a frail-looking little gentleman, with weak 
blue eyes and weak blonde hair, and a weak 
expression.” 

“ Here’s your programme. Miss Nancy,” this 
slight mortal remarked, in rather a faint nasal 
voice. “ Pve been waiting most an hour for you’ 
so I could engage three waltzes as soon as you 
came.” This was a flattering insinuation that her 
card would fill rapidly, so she smiled encour- 


CHARITY BALL. 75 

agingly, as the thin voice went on to say: “Em.’s 
got elegant places for you in the circle.” 

Nancy’s wraps were soon laid aside, and, as 
she entered the doorway on Latrobe’s arm and 
faced the huge building, floored over from circle 
to stage, and filled with a gay crowd in motley 
colors, a little cry of pleasure escaped her, while 
she stood eagerly drinking in the wonderful sight. 
Gilmore’s orchestra, imported for the occasion 
from New York, was pouring forth bewildering 
strains from within a bower of greens on one side 
the floor ; while Hassler — dear to every true Phila- 
delphian’s heart — was equally screened on the 
other. Flowers were everywhere — great globes 
of them hung from the galleries — and they stood 
banked in ail the ugly angles of the building, 
while beneath the dazzling chandelier had been 
suspended a floral Charity” wrought in brilliant 
hues. 

“ It’s fairyland !” exclaimed Nancy, at last. 

“Then let’s go add to its population.” And 
presently they were whirling over the waxed 


70 


3£ISS IfANCY. 


floor, among the gayly dressed people — people 
from East, West, North and South — all meeting 
this one night in the three hundred and sixty-five 
on a footing of equality. Caterpillar street brushed 
rudely past Walnut street, and the latter, in the 
spirit of the occasion, charitably refrained from 
haughty exclamation at the contact. Though the 
actual footing might be the same, and they might 
even dance to the common music, yet there was 
no intermingling, and one stood, in reality, as far 
aloof from the other as though the spirit, if not 
the substance, of Market street had followed them 
even into the sacred precincts of the Academy. 

When the music stopped, Nancy and her 
partner were directly in front of a crowd of men 
heaped around the music stand, spying out and 
seeking whom they might next attack, and giving 
one very much the idea of a huge lot of remnants 
at a dry-goods store, — not talking together, but 
standing with moody brows, gazing blankly at 
the moving throng. 

On the edge of this bunch of men Rahl Ritten 


CHABITY BALL, 


77 


house had paused ; as Nancy stopped she saw 
him at once, and her face flushed as she drew 
Latrobe in an opposite direction. Come,” she 
said ; “ I ought to present you to Mrs. Bolter, be- 
cause you know she is matronizing me.’’ 

Mrs. Bolter grandly acknowledged the intro- 
duction, and made known to Dr. Bolter, through 
the expressive medium of the foot, that he was to 
vacate his seat in favor of the new comer. Dr. 
Bolter, not being very widely acquainted, took 
refuge in the nearest aisle, where he stood hope- 
lessly gazing at the vast thr-eng, for all the world 
as though his best friend had therein been lost^ 
never to reappear. 

Mr. Chivick made the best of such an excellent 
opportunity by offering to show Nancy the beau- 
tiful sight of the building from the top balcony; 
but he stopped at the first, and leading her to 
seats somewhat separated from the many spec- 
tators, nervously asked her to sit down. Some- 
thing in his little white face, from which all signs 
of the companion pink had fled, gave Nancy a 


78 


MISS MAMCY, 


vague idea of what was coming. “It must not 
come,” she thought, decidedly; and, as always 
happens in such cases, her first remark only 
helped to precipitate matters. 

“What a pretty idea,” she said, “to make that 
word of flowers and hang it in the centre. Charity 
certainly does cover a multitude of bofli sins and 
sinners, to-night.” And she laughed feebly at 
her weak attempt. 

“Miss Nancy,” began poor little Dick, losing 
his breath in a sort of gasp, “ please let charity be 
your motto, and — give me a flower.” 

This was not the question she had expected, so 
Nancy laughed hysterically. 

“Don’t, Miss Nancy,’’ he went on, swallowing 
some painful obstruction in his throat. “ I came 
prepared this evening to offer you my heart and 
hand; your happiness shall be mine, and you 
shall never regret this step.” 

Poor Dick’s studied speeches had gotten rather 
mixed. His embarrassment had borrowed frag- 
ments from the one composed to celebrate the joy 


CHABITY BALL. 


79 


of his acceptance. Having suddenly reached the 
grand finale, with the omission of all intermediate 
steps, Dick broke down completely. 

Nancy laughed again — it was all so funny, — 
this little fellow — such a different lover from the 
one she had dreamed of, coming, like a conqueror, 
to demand his own — offering himself in phrases 
stolen from favorite novels. And such a queer 
place, too, for a man to put such a question. 

Here she saw the blue eyes fill with tears and 
the weak little mouth quiver. 

“Forgive me!” she cried, impulsively, stretch- 
ing out her hand. How cruel she had been to 
laugh. 

He pressed her hand softly. “Yes,” he mur- 
mured; “only do try to like me, please. Miss 
Nancy.” 

“I do like you, Dick; but not in the way 
you mean. You must never think of me in that 
way again — never 1 — really, you mustn t. I m not 
good enough to marry any one, and I don’t want 
to.” She ended conclusively: “Now, we had 


80 


MISS NANCY. 


better go down, or they will begin to wonder 
about us. And, oh, dear!” she added, mentally, 
regretting the few minutes of her absence, per- 
haps Rahl Rittenhouse has been looking for me.” 
Nevertheless she felt very gently inclined towards 
her delicate little suitor, who made her the object 
of his adoration upon such a short acquaintance. 
Half-way down the stairs she turned to him with 
a world of pity in the gray eyes and a sad little 
droop to the dimpled mouth. “I am so sorry,” 
she said, once more offering her hand ; “ but can’t 
we still be friends?” 

Dick could not trust his voice ; but he raised 
the gloved hand reverently and kissed it. 

“Why, Miss Jackson!” said a merry voice at 
her elbow, as they returned to the floor, “have 
you been resurrected from the dead, or whither 
have you fled?” 

Nancy’s heart had just been so deeply moved 
that this gay sally scarcely evoked a smile. The 
irrepressible Mr. Spruce then claimed that waltz 
as his, and off they started, leaving poor Dick 


CHABITY BALL. 


81 


to surreptitiously wipe away the tears that con- 
secrated his first and only love. 

*‘You did look rather pale, Miss Jackson,’' 
resumed Mr. Spruce, until my rubicund face 
reflected some color into yours. Not mourning 
for Rahl, I hope ; he isn’t worth it, believe me.^ 
Don’t weep and wail for Rahl ; he’s not worth it 
at all, and he’s only loving you for fun ; he’s 
mashing too many; he don’t care a penny for 
the nicest girl under the sun !” 

Nancy’s face was flaming now from no law of 
reflection, and Spruce, being the softest-hearted 
fellow in the world, honestly regretted his thought- 
less speech as he left her with Latrobe. Of 
course, he knew Latrobe, of Baltimore — Spruce 
was renowned for knowing everybody, and prided 
himself on his extended acquaintance ; so he gave 
Latrobe a friendly grip, as he whispered, with a 
sidelong glance at Nancy: ^‘Congratulate you, 
old fellow : she’s a beaut’.” 

Just then Tommy Pyne came up to beg a 
waltz, and afterwards Furness brought up several 


3£ISS NAJS'GY. 


-S2 

•of his friends, who each and all had to have a 
dance. So the evening passed, and still Rahl 
Rittenhouse kept away. He had seen her ; had 
watched her, indeed, from the first moment she 
stepped on the floor. He had longed to go up to 
her at once and make friends, but his abominable 
pride held him back when he saw her with a 
strange man, most probably a retail clerk — for his 
face was familiar; and yet Mr. Rittenhouse was 
forced to admit that, for a clerk, his style and 
•general air were certainly remarkable. He had 
-actually brought himself to the point of debating 
whether he. could speak, for a few minutes, wdth 
^ancy without attracting the attention of the 
Hillings and the Raynors, who were at that 
moment on the floor — not to mention his aunt, 
who usually kept her eagle eyes upon him — 
when he saw Miss Jackson introduce her hand- 
some escort to a stout, coarse-looking woman, 
gorgeously arrayed in lavender and pink, with a 
coronet of large Rhine stones encircling her frizzy 
hair. That was a little too much for Rahl — he 


CHABITY BALL. 


83 


gave a groan of relief at his narrow escape. Nancy 
should not have the extreme pleasure of speaking 
with Mr. Rittenhouse, during that evening at least' 
Poor Nancy! Her little schemes of vengeance 
broke like so miany bubbles, all because Mrs. 
Bolter wore lavender and pink crowned with 
Rhine stone ornaments — Rhine stones, indeed! — 
they were diamonds of the first water, as their 
wearer would have indignantly assured you. 

After that Rahl stilled the longing to look 
again into the great gray eyes and to listen to the 
i sweet voice, by hastening to ask a waltz of Miss 
j Burgess, one of the most popular buds of the 
I season. It pleased his vanity and made him 
I forget his annoyance to see how eagerly her 
many partners were put aside to make a place on 
her card for him. 

“Oh, but I must have a dance now, too, you 
know,” he pleaded, in a low voice. 

“Why, of course, this is your dance. I had 
almost forgotten it. Mr. Riddle, you must excuse 
me, or take the last half.” 


84 


3IISS J^ANCr. 


Mr. Riddle was not a meek young man, and he 
certainly would have resented this interference 
with his rights had it come from any other 
source. But who would have thought of dis- 
puting a claim with Rahl Rittenhouse, the social 
pass-key and guardian of the Assembly Book, the 
price of whose favor was far above rubies to every 
youthful inhabitant of the world of fashion? Not 
the bravest man in the crowd, with the exception 
of Spruce, but would have yielded, as did young 
Riddle, with a mere muttered demur. 

Leaders of society are all martyrs in one way 
or another ; that night Rahl certainly deserved to 
be numbered with the sainted band. He waltzed 
and flirted with Miss Burgess, Miss Herwood and 
all the most charming belles of the season; yet 
he would have exchanged them in a body for 
that one little white-robed figure ever and anon 
flitting by him in the dance. He tried to under- 
stand why it was her face haunted him, and why 
he always half- expected to hear a pretty Southern 
accent from each new partner he chose; won- 


CHABITY BALL. 


85 


dered why he kept looking for a pair of deep gray 
eyes among the girls he danced with, when he 
knew very well he should find only blue or 
brown. Then, with a little angry shake, he laid 
it all to his conscience; it was punishing him 
for having treated such a sweet little girl so un- 
kindly. He was glad she carried his flowers — he 
had given her some pleasure through them, at any 
rate. 

<‘Seen pretty Nancy Jackson, Rittenhouse?” 
inquired Spruce, thumping him playfully on the 
back, in passing. 

Whether it was the blow or the question 
excited Rahl’s wrath cannot be said; but he 
answered, irritably: “No! I haven’t, and I wish 
you’d let your hands go on a vacation with your 
brains. I’m looking for Miss Karrall.” 

“ I know — Baltimore girl — glassy eyes and tow 
head ; she’s in the corridor with Latrobe.” 

“You mean that fellow who came on to our 
Assemblies last winter?” 

“The same, and, to make the description more 


86 


3ns S 3fANCY. 


telling, the fellow who has cut you out with Miss 
Jackson.” 

After this Parthian arrow, well-aimed at Rahl’s 
pride, Mr. Spruce took his departure. 

The target was of unusual size, and, though the 
marksman was careless, the shot sped right into 
the bull’s-eye. What a fool he had been to be- 
lieve that splendid fellow, who walked the floor 
like a man of the world, could be anything but 
his own equal. Rahl was utterly miserable, and 
he made no attempt to conceal it ; he had been a 
moral coward, and he knew it. His aunt and 
Maude were quite ready to leave ; the latter always 
had the good sense to be ready and willing after 
having been stuck” for a couple of hours with 
two or three self-sacrificing men. 

At the same hour, in Miss Green’s little parlor, 
Nancy was smiling a grateful assent to Latrobe’s 
proposition — that she should walk with him every. 
Sunday during the rest of her visit in Philadelphia. 

Baltimore was a long way to come for a walk 
with her. It was kind of him to want to break 


CHAItITY BALL. 


87 


the monotony of her days. Yes, she would be 
very glad if he would come so often to see her. 
But after this generous friend had gone, and, 
before she put out the lights, several tears fell 
into the bunch of violets, to prove to them alone 
that her evening had not been as pleasant as 
some one could have made it; and, when she 
mounted to her little room, the anonymous 
flowers were flung, through the open window, far 
out on the deserted street, where an early milk- 
man, going his rounds, found them, drooping, but 
still fragrant, and carried them home to his 
country sweetheart. 


83 


MISS NAMCY. 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE BURGLAR. 

'J^HE next day Nancy wandered about the 
house, utterly worn out and disconsolate. 
In her account of the ball to Miss Hannah she 
made no mention of Rahl Rittenhouse, though 
previously he had been a frequent topic of con- 
versation between them. She was so wounded — 
so cut to the quick — that she could not venture 
to speak of him. She saw now that he was 
unwilling to have his friends know of his acquaint- 
ance with her, and this mortification was the 
hardest thing for her to bear. But, perhaps, the 
bitterest drop was that she allowed herself to be 
interested in him. She thought of their short, 
pleasant friendship, and of his many kind atten- 
tions at first — of how he had tried to make her 


THE BUBGLAB. 


89 


like him, and how well he had succeeded ; then, 
as his subsequent conduct recurred to her mind, 
she said to herself, contemptuously: “I am in 
love with him — a man who looks down on me as 
his social inferior.” 

It is not good for a girl to have one man con- 
stantly in her thoughts, and it had been so with 
Nancy. In one connection or another Rahl Rit- 
tenhouse was always before her. 

She had a great many things to worry over at 
this time — particularly the home news, which was 
most discouraging. Mrs. Jackson was, of course, 
unwell, and the children had chosen this conveni- 
ent season to have the measles; but, above all, 
her darling Jack was not making himself be- 
loved. The lugubrious step-mother wrote that 
he was a great trial, and growing worse each day. 

“ If I were at home I could manage him,” said 
Nancy. But there was no possibility of her going 
until May, at the earliest. Then Dick Chivick was 
another thorn. Poor Dick! Whenever Nancy 
thought of him and his elaborate proposal, the 


90 


HISS NANCY. 


wistful blue eyes would rise before her and her 
heart grow very pitiful. 

At last the monotonous day after the ball had 
dragged out its weary length, and, at nine o’clock, 
Nancy was only too glad to prepare for the 
night. Miss Green’s cold was no better — rather 
a trifle worse as evening came on — and she 
seemed so feverish that Nancy insisted upon 
sleeping with her. Nancy was completely tired 
out with her dissipation of the previous evening, 
and at once fell into a heavy slumber. Hours 
passed, when suddenly she awoke with the pecu- 
liar conviction that some one was in the room, 
and that her aunt had wakened her. Cautiously, 
she touched Miss Green’s hand. It was cold and 
clammy as a dead person’s, and shaking convul- 
sively. All her life Nancy had dreaded a burglar 
more than anything else; but now that the dan- 
ger had come she felt qool enough to think what 
would be the best thing to do. Besides, the 
knowledge that poor, sick Miss Hannah depended 
on her gave her courage. Before she had time 


THE BVRGLAll. 


91 


I to open her eyes she felt a bright light swing in 

I front of them, and then it receded. She heard the 

I footsteps go to the other side of the bed, where 
Miss Hannah lay. Nancy pressed her death-like 
hand; but poor Miss Green could not simulate 
sleep; her nervous trembling made that an im- 
possibility, and, as the man bent over the bed, her 
black eyes popped wide open. He clutched her 
throat; then, in a hoarse voice, whispered, as he 
glanced at the quietly sleeping Nancy: “If ye 
I holler ril choke ye!” 

As if knowing all the secrets of the house, he 
slipped her keys from under the bolster, and, 
fitting one in the big old wardrobe. Miss Han- 
nah’s family silver appeared to view. He loaded 
himself and went out into the entry two or three 
times, and then Nancy concluded he was pausing 
to tie it up in a sack, before returning for the 
money. Instantly she decided on her course of 
action. With one spring she had reached the 
door, shut it, and, as his great strength pressed 
' against the other side, she pushed the bolt, and 


92 


3£ISS JSTANCY. 


sank in a little white heap on the floor, every 
atom of strength and courage gone. She felt 
sure her last hour had come ; that he would burst 
open the door and kill her. Perhaps five minutes 
passed while frightened Nancy lay there listening 
to every sound. She heard him rush down 
stairs, fling open the shutters, — then a confused 
thud as he dropped the silver, and after that — 
silence. It was only when she knew he had 
gone that her self-possession came back. Miss 
Hannah lay moaning piteously; — the would-be 
politician, the strong-minded advocate of suffrage 
had become simply one of the weakest of her sex. 

Nancy soothed her in a rather shaky voice: 

Auntie, it’s all right now” — a little sob — “I’ll 
call the policeman” — another sob — “and get the 
pistol.” 

This weapon of defence, not being intended for 
immediate use, was kept hidden away in Miss 
Hannah’s underclothing. Nancy managed to find 
it, and, opening a window, rapidly fired two or 
three times in the street. 


THE BUBGLAB. 


93 


The excitement that followed can hardly be 
described. Miss Green thought the burglar had 
come back, and was almost wild with terror. 

Don’t kill me! don’t kill me!” she shrieked; 
then, springing up from the bed, she rushed to the 
window, screaming “Murder! murder!” at the 
top of her voice. 

This and the fright were too much for Nancy; 
she laughed and cried hysterically. Windows 
were hastily opened, and the neighbors’ heads 
were thrust out. In a few minutes quite a crowd 
of men had collected in front of 2013. The 
policemen entered by the window the burglar 
had used as an exit, and began carefully to search 
the house. The cook and house-maid appeared in 
evening costume, calling on all the saints to 
protect them from the policemen. They must 
have heard the noise, but had prudently kept 
still. Before they all quieted down, the first 
gray streaks of dawn had crept into the East, 
and Miss Hannah was in a high fever. For a 
day or so she was very ill; but careful nursing 


i)4: 


MISS HAUCY. 


conquered the fever, leaving her weak and cross. 
She was a trying patient ; everything had to be 
faultlessly done, and she always had to be coaxed 
into eating her numerous gruels. Every night 
Nancy was called upon to affirm that she had 
examined each bolt and tried each lock, before 
Miss Hannah would compose herself to sleep; 
and often in the night, when she imagined some 
one was in the room, Nancy must get up to look 
under the bed. Then she worried a good deal 
about the stolen silver, but refused to offer any 
reward for it. 

“ I don’t want it now, after that man’s dirty 
fingers have touched it,” she would say, de- 
cidedly. 

Bridget, the valued house-maid had departed 
the morning after the robbery, carrying with her 
a few spoons the burglar had overlooked. This 
aggravated Miss Hannah ; for she had taken 
the girl without a reference, and been much 
pleased with her efficiency and good nature. She 
always spoke of her now as “ that viper.” 


THE BTJBGLAB. 


95 


j In the kindness of her heart, Mrs. Chivick sent 

j Em. round to stay with them. She did her best 

I 

to be useful ; twenty times a day she wanted to 
beat up Miss Green’s pillows, or asked, in her 
high-pitched voice, how she felt, until, at last, 
Miss Hannah lost patience, and bluntly told her 
to go home. Em.’s feelings were hurt, and it 
required much coaxing on Nancy’s part to restore 
her natural good humor. 

You must never mind sick people, you know,” 
she said ; and when Em. finally departed it was 
with the settled conviction that they could not 
have done without her. 

Nancy had very little time for being low- 
^ spirited; now that real work and real trouble had 
come lesser trials departed. From morning till 
night she was busy — housekeeping, nursing and 
writing for her aunt. On Friday came this note 
from Latrobe : — 


96 


3IISS J^ANCY, 


‘‘Baltimore, February i. 

“My Dear Miss Nancy: I have just read an 
account, in to-day’s paper, of your burglar scare. I 
was proud to see that you distinguished yourself. 
‘Miss Jackson bolted the door when the thief left,’ 
reminds me of that proverbial old fellow who locked 
the stable after his horse was stolen. I can imagine 
Miss Green’s wrath and indignation at any one 
daring to elope with the family silver. My nerves 
have been so unstrung that I intend having extra 
bolts put all over our house. Seriously, I am terri- 
bly worried about you two ‘lone, lorn females’ left 
there to encounter burglars and sich; so I am con- 
templating giving you a dog of my sister’s as protec- 
tion. It was only by expatiating on his abnormal 
appetite for the parlor rugs that I persuaded the 
family to give him up. I am coming on for Sunday, 
and shall be up in the afternoon. If you extend 
a very cordial invitation to tea it may be accepted. 
I am certainly going to spend the evening. 

“With regards to your aunt, 

“Very sincerely yours, 

“Furness Latrobe.” 

Nancy sent this answer immediately : — 


THE BURGLAR. 


97 


Dear Mr. Latrobe: So much obliged for 
your sister’s dog. I am afraid he will not like our 
rugs; what kind does he prefer? Don’t you think it 
would be better for you to come Saturday evening, 
also Sunday morning, and stay to dinner? otherwise 
we will see so little of each other. , 

Yours sincerely, 

Nancy Jackson.” 

Saturday evening, about seven o’clock, a mes- 
senger boy appeared at 2013 with a note : — 

^*My Dear Miss Nancy: Happy thought ! I will 
be with you in a few minutes. Sorry I cannot accept 
your pressing invitation for to-morrow; but am stay- 
ing with an old Furness — ^grand-aunt — who will be 
hurt if I do not dine with her. What a bore it is to 
be so popular ! However, I am coming to Philadel 
phia all this spring, so I may be able to give you a 
day later on. The dog will shortly appear. He 
prefers Turkish. 

“Yours, &c., 

“F. Latrobe.” 

And in a little while they arrived. Nancy 
could not help laughing at the dog. He was a 


98 


HISS NANCY. 


small, thin, black-and-tan terrier, with long ears 
standing straight up in the air. 

“Oh, you handsome beast!” laughed Furness, 
shaking his head at him ; “ you little charmer I 
Aren’t you pleased at this delicate attention. Miss 
Nancy?” 

“ He’s not a raving beauty,” she returned, still 
smiling. 

“Never mind. Jack,” said Mr. Latrobe, picking 
him up ; “ we are not appreciated here ; we had 
better go home.” 

“You will have to change his name,” said 
Nancy. 

“Why? Is it too plebeian for your haughty 
ears?” 

“No; but don’t you remember my brother 
Jack ? I could never call the handsomest dog in 
creation by his name, you know.” 

“Well, mightn’t he be induced to make the 
change? for, really, this dog won’t answer unless 
he’s called Jack. Yes, there is one other name 
that will bring him; but ” 


THE BURGLAR. 


99 


“What is it?” asked Nancy, seeing him hesitate. 

“Well, it’s pretty forcible 

“Couldn’t you soften it a little?” 

I They both laughed. 

I “ I can try. Here, Darn-it ! Darn-it, come 
here !” in an angry tone, and the dog came. “ You 
will have to raise your voice a good deal.” 

“Well, I can do that. 1 suppose you think I 
never get angry.” 

“Oh, dear, no. I fully believe you have a 
. ) strong, healthy temper. But, now I want to hear 
about that terrible burglary.” 

“Your modest wish shall be granted;” and 
Nancy gave a long description. 

“It positively makes me creep,” Furness ex- 
claimed at the end. “ I wish my mother were 
here.” 

“Well, I can just tell you it was no joke, and I 
believe any one would have been scared.” 

“There’s no doubt I would have fainted away,” 
continued Latrobe, who liked to see Nancy in- 
dignant. 


100 


3nSS NANCY. 


« It nearly killed Aunt Hannah ; she has been 
very ill ever since.” 

Just then they heard a ghostly sound, which 
faintly resembled “Nancy!” 

“Oh!” cried Latrobe, shaking violently ; “there 
he is now! I wish some one would hold my 
hand.” 

Nancy, stooping down by the register, called 
up — “What is it, auntie?” — then aside to Latrobe 
— “ This is our private telephone.” 

“ Is that Mr. Latrobe ?” came Miss Hannah’s 
voice, faintly. 

“Yes, auntie, and he wants you to hold his 
hand, please.” 

“Ask him to come to tea, to-morrow.” 

“Thanks! I’ll be delighted!” shouted Mr. La- 
trobe’s full, strong voice. 

* ‘ Nancy!” was the instantaneous reply, “ tell him 
not to hollo so — he’ll take the roof off the house 
— and shut the register ; I want more heat.” 

The next afternoon Furness took Nancy a long 
walk in West Philadelphia, where they had the 


THE BURGLAU. 


101 


pleasure of seeing Rahl sauntering with Miss 
Karrall. He seemed bored, and was evidently 
not enjoying himself. “ He didn’t look that way 
when he walked with me,” thought Nancy; and, 
as he passed them, she was too much absorbed in 
conversation with Mr. Latrobe to give him even 
a glance. 

The tea was a great success. Miss Hannah, 
though in a rather subdued mood, felt well 
enough to grace the occasion. After pouring 
out the coffee and helping the frizzled beef, she 
involved them all in an argument on “ revealed 
religion,” from which they were finally rescued 
by Darnit’s timely interference. He had a very 
attractive habit of begging, in the most piteous 
way, for something to eat. 

“ I don’t believe you feed this dog at all,” 
remarked Furness, helping him to a bit of frizzled 
beef. “ He’s actually ravenous.” 

“ That dog get’s about twice as much as any 
of the family; but he has a remarkable and 
never-failing appetite at all hours,” said Nancy. 


102 


3ns S liANCY. 


“ If I have one particular aversion it is to 
dogs,” announced Miss Hannah ; “ and I will not 
pamper the animals.” 

Nancy smiled. In her heart Miss Green was 
the kindest of mortals, and ever since Darnit’s 
arrival she had worried over him, wondering if he 
would be warm enough in the yard at night, and 
whether dog-biscuit had not better be his exclu- 
sive diet. At first Nancy could not induce her to 
call him by his new name. She insisted it was 
profane; but no one could resist Nancy in a 
eoaxing mood, so she finally yielded. 

During the evening Dick Chivick called. He 
was very meek and humble, and there was a 
timidity about him almost painful to see. Nancy 
thought he had been crying, his eyes were so 
red. Under her kind treatment he soon bright- 
ened up and grew quite excited about the burglar. 

If I had only been here. Miss Nancy,” he said, 
in his small, piping voice, ‘‘ I’d have killed him!” 

Nancy did not laugh; somehow it made her 
feel a little sad. 


THE BUBGLAE. 


103 


“ Tm glad you were not here ; for he might 
have shot you, and I wouldn’t have you hurt for 
anything.” 

Dick blushed with pleasure, and no wonder 
he felt that his chances of making Nancy Mrs. 
Chivick were not so poor after all. 


104 


3£ISS I£AIfGY. 


CHAPTER VII. 

A SLIP IN THE MUD. 

day by day Miss Hannah grew stronger 
and better, she once more threw herself 
into her former occupations. Sundays were the 
brightest days of the week to Nancy; but the 
six in between were sometimes very unhappy. 
She was left so much to her own thoughts that 
she brooded over her troubles. There came a 
great bitterness into her heart against Philadel- 
phians in general and Rahl Rittenhouse in par- 
ticular. It seemed so hard to be left out of all 
the fun and gayety that went on in Mrs. Ritten- 
house’s set, where she knew she would have been 
one of the blithest of them all. If Rahl had 
only made a little effort for her, it might have 
been so different. ** But why should he make an 
effort for you?” said her truthful conscience. 


A SLIP IX THE MUD. 


105 


“Well,” she returned, “ he need not have hindered 
my efforts, and been rude.” Here conscience was 
forced to confess she was right. 

Night after night patient little Dick rang Miss 
Green’s bell to ask for Miss Nancy, and, accord- 
ing to previous instruction, Maria replied, some- 
times rejoicing his soul by admitting him into the 
sunshine of Nancy’s presence, and at other times 
— much oftener, in fact — saying “Miss Jackson 
begged to be excused.” It never occurred to him 
to take exception at any decree of his goddess. 
There is a saying, “The king can do no wrong 
in this case it was the queen. Everything she 
did or said was perfection, in Dick’s sight. When 
she forbade him bringing any more five-pound 
boxes of cream chocolates, he put the money 
into flowers ; and when she told him he must not 
waste his money so, the blue eyes grew very 
large and wistful, as he said, “ Oh, Miss Nancy, 
mayn’t I bring you violets?” 

Somehow it never occurred to her that Dick’s 
love could be anything but feeble, like himself; so 


106 


MISS NANCY. 


she thoughtlessly allowed him to come to see 
her, more for her own amusement than for any- 
thing else. 

And what of Rahl Rittenhouse in these days 
before I.ent? You remember, he had resolved to 
blot her entirely from his mind, and this he had 
tried to do; but though days would pass without 
his having once thought of her, yet some slight 
gesture — some peculiar expression — would bring 
her at once before him, as real and lifelike as 
possible. Just when her image seemed to be 
fading away, he was obliged to write her that 
note about the Assembly, and afterwards his con- 
science gave him no little trouble. Once or 
twice he found himself wondering what she had 
thought of him when she read it, and he could 
not escape the guilty feeling that he — Rahl Rit- 
tenhouse — had behaved to a lady as no gentle- 
man should. But now society had many claims 
on his time, and he plunged into the furious 
whirl of gayeties that were crowded in the brief 
space before Lent. But though Nancy’s memory 


A SLIP IJSr THE MUD. lOT 

might be only a cobweb in his brain, fate had 
decreed that it should not be brushed away. 

It was about six o’clock one rainy day, near 
the middle of February, as Rahl was hurrying 
homeward, to make preparations for several 
early engagements, that he was compelled to wait, 
at Broad and Chestnut streets, for some heavy 
wagons to pass. As he stood impatiently by 
the curb- stone, he noticed a slight gossamer-clad 
figure dart recklessly forward, trying to cross in 
front of a huge brewery cart. If the driver had 
not immediately reined up his horses there would 
have been a serious accident; for her foot slipped 
in the mud, and down she fell. Rahl picked her 
up, while a policeman collected her bundles ; and, 
as she lifted her face to thank them both, the 
lamplight fell on Nancy Jackson. Nancy, in the 
oldest of clothes and shabbiest of hats, and cov- 
ered with mud, was a very different figure from 
the dainty little belle of Mrs. Rittenhouse’s balk 
Rahl helped her to the corner, where he pro- 
ceeded to improve her appearance with his spot- 


108 


3nSS NANCY, 


less handkerchief. As he finished, she gave her 
hat a pull to right it, grasped her bundles in one 
arm, her umbrella in the other, and started to 
walk down Broad street. He took the parcels 
with a gentle “Allow me,’’ and continued beside 
her. 

“I’ll have your handkerchief washed and sent 
to you,” she said, looking straight ahead. 

“ It’s a shame for you to be out so late,” said 
Rahl. “How did it happen ?” 

“Very naturally,” she returned, loftily. 

“ May I take you home ?” he asked, feeling 
more contented than he had for some time. 

“No, I thank you !” was her polite response. 

“Well, I am going to walk beside you,” he 
announced, decidedly. 

There was no reply, and they went on in 
silence. He felt as completely at his ease as 
ever, while she was both angry at him and dis- 
concerted by her recent adventure. 

“Won’t you please tell me,” he asked, in a 
most beseeching tone, “what you are doing out 
at this hour?” 


A SLIP m THE MVD. 


109 


“ I went to Wanamaker’s for some buttons. 
Aunt Hannah was busy, so she sent me. I sup- 
pose it’s ‘bad form.’” 

He was indignant. “ It’s not only bad form ; it 
is dangerous for a youijg, pretty girl to be out 
after dark in a large city. You don’t know all 
the dangers; but take my word for them, and,” 
very suddenly, ‘‘promise me you’ll not do it 
again.” 

She raised her head and looked at him; he 
could see her eyes flashing. “ Promise she 

exclaimed, scornfully. 

The absurdity of his position suddenly struck 
him ; he saw how peculiar, to say the least, this 
solicitude must seem to her. Rahl Rittenhouse 
was not often at a loss for words; but now he 
could find nothing to say, so, in silence, they 
waited for the Sansom street car. When it 
stopped, Nancy jumped in. “ Good-bye,” she 
said, coldly, though she knew he was following 
her. For some time the car was crowded; but 
finally, as they neared their destination, Rahl 
secured a seat by her side. 


110 


MISS NANCY. 


“Miss Jackson,” he said, “I have never had a 
chance to apologize for not claiming another 
walk. I meant to explain at the Charity; but, 
you were so surrounded I didn’t have the 
chance.” 

Nancy said nothing; but the clear, candid eyes 
asked plainly, “How dare you tell such a story?” 

Rahl was rather discomposed, and stammered 
helplessly over his next remark: ‘‘I — my after- 
noons — that is, I have been engaged for every 
other Sunday.” Nancy laughed; it was so ridi- 
culous to see him embarrassed. “ Miss Jackson, 
when may I have one ?” 

“ Oh,” she said, wickedly, “ I am engaged for 
every Sunday, so I must deny myself the pleasure 
of walking with you.” 

When they arrived at 2013, she did not ask 
him in ; but volunteered this speech : “ Good- 
night, and thanks for all your kindness.” * 

The sarcasm of this went right through him 
like an arrow ; but he admired her for it, and 
was struck by her bravery in daring to snub him. 


A SLIP m THE AlUD. 


Ill 


No other woman he had ever met could have 
done it. 

“ May I come in ?” he asked, with an audacity 
that almost took her breath away. What could 
she say but “certainly?” And he came in. 
Yes, not only came in, but took a comfortable 
arm-chair, and proceeded to make himself agree- 
able. Miss Hannah was charmed when she heard 
that Rahl Rittenhouse, one of Nancy’s “stylish 
friends,” had at last appeared. She insisted upon 
asking him to tea. Nancy begged and pleaded 
all in vain. 

“I’ll just send out for some oysters and cake; 
he’ll enjoy it, see if he don’t.” 

“ But he isn’t a friend of mine,” entreated 
Nancy, feeling this was more than human nature 
could stand. 

“Well, he may be,” said Miss Hannah, with a 
knowing shake of the head, “ and I’ll go down 
to ask him myself.” And she did go down — did 
ask him, and, if you will believe me, he stayed 
not only to tea, but until nearly ten o’clock. A 


112 


3nss JSrANCY, 


greater part of the time Miss Hannah monopo- 
lized him. At the table they commenced a long 
argument on politics, which was continued in the 
parlor, and lasted till after nine o’clock. To do 
him justice, Rahl could talk very well, and to- 
night he exerted himself more than usual in his 
effort to make a favorable impression on Miss 
Green. He was so pleasant, and enjoyed the 
oysters so much, that, altogether, that lady was 
highly delighted. Nancy for a long while re- 
mained politely cool ; but, being an impressible 
young person, and, besides, secretly on his side, 
she began to thaw a little. “Well,” she thought 
to herself, as she heard him ask Miss Green if he 
might call again, “impudence can go no further; 
but, perhaps, he is sorry for his conduct, and if 
he is, ni forgive him.” Oh, fickle Nancy! in the 
morning fierce with anger, and then in the even- 
ing you “ forgive him.” 

If Rahl felt contrite he certainly concealed it 
remarkably well, nor was there anything in his 
conversation to betray his penitence. When he 


A SLIP JJV THE MUD. 


113 


took his leave, it was with several well-turned 
compliments on the pleasant evening he had 
spent, and the hope of many more equally de- 
lightful. 

He was a deliberate man, and in regard to^ 
women not at all susceptible. His thirty years 
had passed without one real affair of the heart— 
of course, I except those early loves that are so 
violent while they last. It is a fortunate dispen- 
sation of Providence that they are soon over. He 
was not indifferent to women; he liked almost 
all of them, in a brotherly sort of way. But now 
a great wave of something very like love seemed 
to sweep over him, and leave him a different 
man. He did not analyze the feeling, and call it 
love; but he knew that this evening was the 
happiest he had ever spent, and he almost reeled 
with the sudden sensation of such passionate joy 
in life. It was the first stage — the unreasoning, 
blissfully happy period that soon passes off, 
leaving a man cool, determined and capable of 
calculating narrowly the chances of success or 
failure. 


114 


HISS HANCY. 


Rahl had no sooner left her than he longed to 
see the full, red lips pout again, and the gray eyes 
flash. He recalled her as she was at first — the 
dimpling, blushing little stranger, telling him her 
idea of love. I cannot tell you half the foolish 
dreams, sleeping and waking, he had that night ; 
probably you know much better than I do. And 
yet) such is the duplicity of man that on being 
asked why he was not at the Villing’s German, 
he answered, shortly, “Couldn’t, on account of 
business.” Oh, Rahl Rittenhouse ! I fear it will 
take more than love to make you overcome the 
prejudices of your set. 

For a day or two his delightful flow of spirits 
lasted, and then a wild desire to see her again 
took possession of him; but somehow he could 
not find the chance to slip off unobserved to 
Caterpillar street. It took a great deal of time to 
attend to his social duties, even in the most 
superficial manner; for his evenings were filled 
with balls, receptions, dinners and opera parties, 
from any of which his absence would have ex- 


A SLIP m THE HUB. 115 

cited comment. The entertainments bored him — • 
so did the beautiful buds and the more seasoned 
roses. 

“ If I could I would like to cut Rah. Ritten- 
house,” said one audacious girl to another. 

“ But you can’t, you know,” returned the other, 
conclusively. 

She was right; there was no girl dared offend 
him. 

One evening a happy idea occurred to Mr. 
Rittenhouse — and he acted upon it immediately — . 
to go to Caterpillar street before the more serious 
affairs for the night commenced. Thus he began 
to haunt 2013. Of course, he was admitted, 
especially as he took the precaution of always 
asking for Miss Green. During about half the 
time of his call they would have some lively dis- 
cussion, and then Miss Hannah would leave 
abruptly, saying she “couldn’t waste another 
minute, and Nancy might talk to him.” 

That young lady’s moods were singularly 
changeable — sometimes warmly belligerent, some- 


116 


mss JS^AJ^CY. 


times coldly peaceful — still she found herself 
looking forward to these visits with keen enjoy- 
ment. In truth, Rahl was a very attractive man, 
and at no party, ball or grand dinner did he 
make such an effort to be agreeable as in Miss 
Hannah Green’s plain little parlor. 

Nancy’s temper was quick, but not sullen; and I 
among her Christian duties forgiveness was never 
a very hard one to perform. Now, for a time, 
she excused his conduct, forgave him freely, and, 
for one or two evenings, was the same blithe, 
winsome girl he had first known. But after a 
while she grew suspicious. Though so frequent 
a visitor at the house, he never happened to ask 
her to walk, or brought any of his friends to call. 
Nancy’s pride awoke, and she determined to give 
his friendship a trial before accepting it. 

“Why don’t you bring your Cousin Maude to 
see me?” she asked him one evening early in 
March. “I am very much alone, and now that 
Edith is not coming back, I don’t know what I 
shall do.” 


I A SLIP IJS^ THE AlUD. 117 

r “ I’m sure she will be most happy,” murmured 
I Rahl. 

“Well,” said Nancy, “I would like to see her 
very much. Suppose you bring her next Thurs- 
day.’’ 

“ She has an engagement, I know, for Thurs- 
day.” 

“ Say Saturday, then.” 

“ I will be in New York on Saturday.” 

“Well, you choose the day. When shall 
it be?” 

Mr. Rittenhouse actually hemmed and hawed 
before he answered. “I never can count on 

) 

Maude, she is so busy; and this Lent all the 
girls are doing parish work, you know, and that 
takes lots of time.” 

“Very well,” said Nancy, who had formed an 
opinion during that short time, “ very well — we 
had better leave it indefinitely in the future.” 

No amount of your most fascinating conversa- 
tion can affect Miss Nancy now, Rahl, for she 
•, has formed an opinion; she has decided that 


118 


HISS HANCY. 


your friendship is not worth having, and that 
you shall come no more to see her. Such a 
mighty conclusion to arrive at in so short a space 
of time! 

A woman’s brain works fasten* than a man’s, 
and it was only on his way home that it occurred 
to Rahl to wonder whether she suspected any- 
thing of his unwillingness to make an engage- 
ment for Maude, which he knew very well he 
could never persuade her to fulfil. He had to 
evade a good many questions as to why he was 
seen so often crossing Market street. 

“A man must walk, and I’m tired of the same 
old houses,” he explained, clumsily. 

^‘Rahl,” said Lamberton Coles, tapping him on 
the shoulder, old boy, you’re keeping something 
back. Let me have one look at her.” Rahl 
shook off his friend’s hand. 

“Nonsense!” he said; “don’t you know me 
better than that? Do you think I’d ‘rush’ an 
up-town girl ?” 

“You might rush her,” said the world- wise 


A SLir m THE MUD. 110 

Mr. Coles. “I once loved a shop girl. But 
you’d never marry her; you have too much sense, 
Rahlie.” 

Mr. Rittenhouse started. Marry her! Would 
he dare ? For the first time the idea of such a 
thing occurred to him. For a moment he hesi- 
tated. “You are right,” he said, quietly; “ I have 
too much sense to marry her.” 

Mr. Coles eyed him suspiciously, resolving to 
watch for proof of his conviction that Rahl had 
taken a fancy to some maid of low degree, and he 
determined to be prepared to assist him out of 
the difficulty at the right moment. 

Mrs. Rittenhouse was worried about him, too^ 
and, with her keen perception, she analyzed his 
symptoms, and decided there was a woman at 
the bottom of it. She was like a certain astute 
prime minister, who always exclaimed, when he 
heard of any trouble, “ Who is the woman ?” 

Oh, these women, who rule us from the cradle 
to the grave; who guide every action of our 
youth; then, as manhood comes, how they torture 


120 


MISS MAMCY. 


and bless our every hour; later, in middle life, it 
is the daughters who coax and wheedle their 
soft-hearted fathers; and, even in tottering, feeble 
old age, we cling to tiny, girlish fingers. 

Mrs. Rittenhouse saw plainly that her daughter 
was not the favored one, and, as she had determined 
that Maude should marry her cousin, she felt a 
strong desire to find out who was interfering with 
her plan. She had not forgotten Nancy Jackson. 
A society woman does not forget a girl wRo 
receives as much attention as Nancy had on the 
occasion of her ball, and she had also seen how 
attractive she might be to a blase society mar , 
But Vv^hen she heard of Nancy’s retirement to 
Caterpillar street, she felt the danger to be passed ; 
for certainly Rahl would never go there for a 
wife. Still, it was not impossible, so she gently 
sounded him. “ What has become of that little 
Miss Jackson, who stayed with Edith Shew ?” 

Some place in the northern part of the city,” 
he answered, languidly, though his pulses were 
beating quickly. 


121 


A SLIP m THE 3IUD. 

^‘You had rather a ‘perxhant’ for her, Rahl,” 
his aunt continued. “Why don’t you call?” 
with a laugh, expressive of the absurdity of the 
idea. 

He laughed, too. “ T. F. U. T.” was his mys- 
terious response. Then, in a different tone, he 
asked : “ Has Maude gone to church yet ? I 
believe I’ll go with her.” 

“ Do go, you dear boy; its only a short walk 
to St. Mark’s, and it will please Maude,” replied 
Mrs. Rittenhouse, graciously, feeling perfectly 
sure that he had something to conceal, and that 
this was a blind. 

The knowledge that both Coles and his aunt 
suspected him made Rahl redouble his vigilance 
in guarding his secret visits to 2013, and it also 
strengthened his determination to keep them up. 
Besides, he w'as growing anxious about Nancy ; for 
Maria, with a wooden visage, had told him, on 
both his last calls, that “ the ladies begged to be 
excused.” 


122 


MISS NANCY. 


CHAPTER Vin. 

MRS. CHIVICK PLEADS. 

qne Saturday afternoon about the middle of 
March, Mrs. Chivick was putting the finish- 
ing touches to a most elegant visiting toilette. 
It consisted of a plum-colored satin dress tied 
back very tightly ; a rich velvet mantle trimmed 
with heavy fringe, and a bonnet of ‘satin with a 
mass of lemon-colored plumes at one side, tied 
with wide lace strings under her double chin. 
Just now she was putting her number seven hand 
into a number six glove. 

“ Em.,” she remarked, in a determined tone, to 
that young lady, who was reading a sensational 
novel, I’m a-going to see that Nancy Jackson.” 
Much to her surprise, Em. made no opposition; 
but rather favored the idea. 

«Well, ma, I’d just give her a piece of my 


MBS. CIIIVICK PLEADS. 123 

mind, — letting Dick spend his money and waste 
his time for nothing.” 

“Yes, he’s been fooling round that girl since 
the first of January, and I don’t believe she’s give 
him an answer yet. I don’t see what he’s so 
fascinated by, any way; she hasn’t got half the 
style of you and Marne, and I’m sure she wasn’t 
a bit lively the night of the music ale P 

“Why, ma, he’s just crazy about her, and she’s 
led him on, too; you just give her a piece of your 
mind.” 

“Dick,” returned Mrs. Chivick, “is that peev- 
ish and restless there’s no living with him. I’m 
out of patience with her, and I’m going to tell 
her we’re tired of this shilly-shallying, and just 
to come out and say yes, like a sensible girl.” 

“You’re sure, ma, she’ll take him?” 

“Take him! she’ll jump at him; but girls 
thinks its stylish to act so, and I’m not going to 
have it,” marching out of the room. 

Em. rather pitied Nancy; for, when roused, Mrs. 
Chivick was not a very pleasant person to deal 


121 3ns S I^ANCY, 

with. However, she had brought it on herself, 
and, with this comforting reflection, Em. returned 
to her novel. 

When Mrs. Chivick’s card was brought up, 
Nancy very naturally supposed it was meant for 
her aunt; but Miss Hannah was busy making a 
report for one of her societies, and refused to go. 

<‘No,” she said, shortly, “I won’t see her.” 

Oh, but auntie, they’ve been so kind.” 

Nancy, I will not leave this important busi- 
ness to talk to an Illiterate woman. I wish the 
Chivicks would stop coming here all the time ; 
they’re trying to persuade me to employ Dr. 
Bolter, and I won’t trust my life to any empty- 
headed young doctor. I can see through their 
designs. Emma wants my coral jewelry, and she 
shan’t have it. I’d sooner leave it to an orphan 
asylum.” 

Nancy could not help laughing at her vehe- 
mence. “ It’s a shame to say they are designing.” 

“ I’m going to leave everything to you — every- 
thing except an annuity for Maria. I meant the 


MRS. CHIVICK PLEADS. 125 

silver to be your wedding-preserxt. Oh, if I could 
only lay my hands on that viper !” 

This was the subject Nancy did not want Miss 
Hannah to think about, as she always grew so 
excited. “Well,” she exclaimed, “if you’re anx- 
ious to get rid of me, I’ll accept the first offer I 
get,” and ran down stairs. 

“ You’ll have to put up with me, Mrs. Chivick,’^ 
she said, sitting down by her. “Aunt Hannah is 
too busy to see any one.” 

“ How is she ?” 

“ She’s nearly all right now, but not quite so 
strong as she was.” 

“ It’s real hard on you. Miss Nancy, having 
been shut up in a sick room so long.” 

“ Oh, it wasn’t tiresome at all ; Aunt Hannah 
and I are great cronies.” 

Mrs. Chivick felt that this was an excellent 
opening, and resolved to take advantage of it. 

“ It’s very amiable in you to talk that way ; but 
naturally you want to be looking around a little 
for yourself. Down in the country I don’t sup- 


126 


MISS MAMCY. 


pose you ever see any one, and this trip to 
Philadelphia may be of great service to you.” 

Nancy was smiling. “ My dear Mrs. Chivick, 
you make a great mistake about Berkeley. In 
summer it is crowded with the very nicest people, 
and I have made a great many friends among 
them, both girls and men.” 

There was a pitying tone in Mrs. Chivick’s 
voice, as she answered: “My dear child, don’t 
you believe a word those fine city men say to 
you. Like as not they flatter you, and give you 
promises; but they don’t mean nothing by it. 
Don’t you trust them.” 

“ Mrs. Chivick, I have never allowed any man 
to flatter me, or make promises.” Nancy flushed 
rather angrily. 

Mrs. Chivick patted her kindly. “ Don’t take 
offence when there’s none meant; but the truth 
is, it’s time you thought about getting married. 
You’re eighteen, ain’t you ?” 

“Yes, I’m nineteen,” said Nancy, feeling Mrs. 
Chivick was rather impertinent; but she con- 


MBS. CHIVICK PLEADS. 


127 


quered her impatience, and said, smiling, “ Yes, 
I’m nineteen; but I’m not going to think of mar- 
rying for a great many years.” 

Mrs. Chivick drew a breath of relief ; she felt 
her task would be easier than she had imagined. 

“ That’s the way all girls talk, and it’s so 
foolish; it’s seldom a girl has the chance of 
getting a good, moral, steady young man, and 
when she’s got the chance, my advice is to take 
him.” Nancy began to see the drift of her 
visitor’s conversation, and when Mrs. Chivick 
continued, knowingly, “ Dick once said you 
thought Chivick was a prettier name than Jack- 
son,” she almost burst out laughing; but she 
knew this would offend her visitor, so she re- 
frained. 

“Yes, I did say so one night.” 

“ Nancy,” burst out Mrs. Chivick, “ my boy’s 
just wild about you; he just worships the ground 
you walk on, and if you’ll only take him, you’ll 
live like a queen. He’s eating out his heart for 
you, and I can’t stand it no longer.” Mrs. C. 


128 


3nSS NANCY. 


made a face, and tried to swallow her tears. If 
needs be,” she continued, seeing Nancy’s face did 
not soften, “ I’d go down on my knees to plead 
for him; for I ain’t got no pride where my 
children’s concerned.” 

“ It’s hopeless, Mrs. Chivick. I told your son 
so, and he agreed to be my friend,” said Nancy, 
feeling for the first time how serious a matter it 
was, and how cruel her conduct must seem. 

“A girl hasn’t no right to lead a young man 
on, and then tell him they’ll be friends.” Poor 
woman! she found it harder work each moment 
to keep her temper. “And you’ve sense enough 
to know that a young man don’t want his love to 
be his friend ; my boy don’t want no pity.” 
Nancy began to feel very guilty. Mrs. Chivick 
continued, in an aggrieved tone: “And it’s just 
the thing to make a young man turn to drink or 
gambling or low company.” 

“ I’m sure that won’t happen in his case ; he’s 
too good.” 

If Dick once took to bad ways he’d go 


MRS. CHIVICK PLEADS. 129 

straight to the dogs ; for he’s awful set when once 
he takes a notion. His father and I was hoping 
he’d be immersed soon; but now I suppose we 
must give that up.” 

“You’re Baptists, I believe.” ^ 

“Yes, Mr. Chivick’s an elder; and if only Dick 
would come out and profess religion. I’d be will- 
ing to die to-morrow. You don’t know what it is 
for a mother to see her only son just wild after a 
thing, and she not able to give it to him. And he 
don’t eat nothing, and looks just dreadful. He’s"* 
losing flesh so fast his clothes hangs on him like 
bags; his eyes is red most of the time, and I 
know he don’t sleep well o’ nights.” Mrs. Chivick 
had recourse to her handkerchief. 

Poor Nancy felt overcome with remorse; the 
tears came in her eyes. “ I’m so sorry ! so 
sorry !” 

Mrs. Chivick rose to go, and as they walked 
out in the entry, she laid her hand on Nancy’s 
shoulder and said, impressively, “ I don’t bear no 
malice to you, Nancy; for I’m a church member. 


130 


MISS NANCY. 


and act up to my profession; but it goes against 
the grain to forgive you.” 

There was a loud peal from the front door bell ; 
when Maria opened it there stood Rahl Ritten- 
house. 

“ Is Miss Nancy at home ?” 

Maria turned to her young mistress, who stood 
in full view. “ Miss Jackson is not at home,” 
she said, in her clear, full voice. 

“Will you give Miss Green this card, please?” 
he continued, apparently thinking Maria had just 
spoken; for he exclaimed: “Beg pardon. Miss 
Jackson,” as he came in. 

A ray of conviction shone into Mrs. Chivick’s 
mind under the satin bonnet and Thompson 
wave. This was her son’s rival, one of the ‘‘ city 
men” whose fulsome flattery overshadowed Dick’s 
more sterling qualities. She resolved to stay and 
see just how matters stood. Nancy was naturally 
placed in an awkward position; she guessed what 
Mrs. Chivick thought, and wondered what Rit- 
tenhouse would think after a few minutes should 


MRS. CmVICK PLEADS. 


131 


give Mrs. Chivick an opportunity to display her 
conversational skill. The ludicrous side struck 
her, and she smiled broadly, as she presented 
Mr. Rittenhouse to Mrs. Chivick. That lady 
maintained a haughty aspect; she wished to 
petrify this giddy butterfly of fashion. 

I hope your aunt is better,” said Rahl, in his 
easy way. 

“Yes,” returned Nancy, “she is on the road to 
recovery. Aunt Hannah does hate being sick; 
and then she worries so about the silver. She 
was grieving over it just before I came down to 
see you, Mrs. Chivick — said she had intended it 
for my wedding-present.” 

Nancy was talking now more for the sake of 
filling the awkward silence than for anything 
else; but to Mrs. Chivick this last remark savored 
ilii'owing herself at the young man’s head. 

“ It’s very few girls — I mean young ladies — 
that gets the chance of marrying at all ; young 
ladies is so extravagant nowadays that the young 
gentlemen can’t afford to marry ’em, though 


132 


MISS NANCY. 


they’re willing enough to flatter ’em. Ain’t 
that so?” appealing to the only young gentle- 
men” present. 

Nancy perceived the hidden meaning in this, 
and wondered what Rahl would say. 

Mr. Rittenhouse had taken Mrs. Chivick’s 
measure — to use a vulgar expression — so he an- 
swered accordingly: “There’s no doubt,” with a 
courteous little inclination of the head, “ that 
there is a great deal of truth in that ; but you 
must bear in mind how expensive all our living 
is now; for instance, your mantle is made of the 
costliest velvet ; a few years ago queens only could 
boast of such wraps.” 

This went right to Mrs. Chivick’s heart; her 
face beamed, and she cast a gratified look on the 
long mantle, when suddenly an angry frown 
darkened her brow ; there stood Darnit giving 
contented little tugs at her fringe, probably more 
at home than since he left his rugs in Baltimore. 
One gentle reminder from her rather substantial 
foot, and the little dog was sent almost down the 
cellar steps. 


3fIiS. CHIVICK PLEADS. 


133 


“ Nasty thing !” exclaimed Mrs. Chivick, ex- 
amining the damages; “he’s tore a lot of my 
fringe, and it can’t be bought in Philadelphia.” 

Nancy bit her lips to keep back the smiles, 
picked up well-meaning but troublesome Darnit 
and patted him gently as she condoled with his 
victim. This last was a hard task ; they grew red 
in the face stooping over to pin it on; the 
Thompson wave slipped slightly to one side, and 
the lemon plumes nodded vigorously. 

“ Come in the parlor,” said Nancy. This sug- 
gestion being acted upon, the greater part of the 
mischief was soon rectified. 

“ Dogs is the most trying animals,” said Mrs. 
Chivick, holding her head up very high, regard- 
less of the crooked front. “When Dr. Bolter, 
my daughter’s husband, was waiting on Marne, 
he gave her one of them big china dogs — so much 
better than a live one, and so much nicer round 
the house. I don’t want you to think, Mr. Rit- 
tenhouse, that I mind having a little fringe tore 
off, though I was provoked at the time. If I 


134 


3riss :n^ancy. 


wanted, I could go right down town and buy a 
new lot of trimmings, and Mr. Chivick wouldn’t 
fret about the bill. Mr. Chivick ain’t close where 
I’m concerned ; but children’s awful expensive, 
and when a young man’s got a girl in his head, 
it’s wonderful how he can make money fly. Why, 
for the Charity Ball Dick paid upwards of fifteen 
dollars for a bouquet.” 

Nancy felt herself grow red, and, what was 
worse, she saw that Rahl had noticed it. In a 
desperate sort of way she tried to change the 
subject. “ How interesting those immersions 
must be, at your church,” she said to Mrs. Chivick. 

Rahl was absently gazing out of the window. 
But this big flounder would not bite at her tiny 
bait. Her mind instantly traveled back to her 
son. If only Dick would take care of his cold,’’ 
she said, mournfully. “ He ain’t wore no over- 
coat this winter. He says it ain’t stylish.” 

No overcoat !” exclaimed Nancy, feeling this 
sacrifice was for her sake. 

‘‘None, excepting one of them short ones,” 


3£BS. CHIVICK PLEADS. 135 

disdainfully eyeing Rahl’s, of the latest London 
cut, “that don’t protect his legs,” rising and 
kissing Nancy. She shook hands with Rahl, 
asked him to call on Em., which invitation he 
warmly accepted, and then departed, feeling she 
had done a good afternoon’s work. 

“ Nancy’s amusement had given place to anger. 
She resolved to show Rahl that he was not to 
come again. 

Mr. Rittenhouse, on his part, was fully aware 
of the bold thing he had done in coming in, and 
resolved to be as agreeable as possible. “ What 
a comfort,” he exclaimed, as they reseated them- 
selves, “that benevolent colossus has departed; 
such people ought to be suppressed.” 

“Mr. Rittenhouse,” said Nancy, in a severe 
tone, “ Mrs. Chivick is an old friend of my aunt’s, 
and I wish you would not speak of her in that 
way.” 

“ Forgive me.” 

“And another thing I didn’t like,” continued 
Miss Jackson, “ was the way you laughed at her. 


136 


MISS MAMCY. 


I don’t think it was respectful to me, to say the 
least.” 

“ Forgive me,” repeated Rahl, pleasantly, feel- 
ing how delightful it was to have her scold him. 
His easy tone exasperated her. 

“ That’s what you always say,” she exclaimed ; 
“you think you can say or do anything to me, 
provided you tack on that convenient little ‘For- 
give me.’ ” She stopped suddenly, being a little 
ashamed of her vehemence. 

“ Miss Nancy,” asked Rahl, “ I know you used 
to detest me ; am I making any advances in your 
favor ?” 

“None,” shortly returned Nancy. 

“Well, as I am interested in the subject, I 
should like to know your opinion of me.” 

“ I have no opinion of you,” was the ambigu- 
ous answer. 

Rahl condescended to show a little temper. 
“Well, if such is the case, I don’t see how you 
can let me come here all the time.” 

“ I do not press you to come Mr. Rittenhouse,” 


3IBS, CIIIVICK FLEABS, i:’>7 

said Nancy, whose own temper was at a white 
heat. 

“ How could you let me come in this evening, 
if that’s the way you feel ?” he said, foolishly 
pressing the point. 

“ I did not let you ; you forced your way in.” 

“And when I come you treat me like a dog.” 

“ The remedy is in your own hands, Mr. Rit- 
tenhouse,” said she, with apparent coolness; “you 
can leave.” 

In a moment’s time Rahl had left, and never 
before had he been so angry. He struck a dog, 
that came too near him, furiously, with his cane, 
and cursed a beggar boy who prayed for a few 
pennies. But soon his anger passed into jeal- 
ousy, and his love burned fiercer and fiercer. He 
thought of the man who had been with her at 
the Charity Ball, and whom he had seen with 
her once or twice on the street, and the unerring 
conviction took possession of him that Furness 
Latrobe was his rival. 

He passed seven days of the utmost wretched- 


138 


HISS NANCY. 


ness; then he could no longer resist the tempta- 
tion to tell some one, so he went to his friend 
Lamberton Coles. That gentleman lived in rooms 
of the utmost elegance and comfort, on Walnut 
street, and when Rahl came in, late the next 
Saturday night, he was enjoying a good cigar 
and a hot whiskey punch, before his fire. 

“ Say, old boy, what’s the matter ? Has Maude 
eloped with the coachman? Take a cigar and 
make yourself at home.” 

In truth, Rahl was a forlorn object. He was 
white and haggard ; his dark eyes had a desperate 
look in them, and there w^as a want of finished 
care in his costume. 

“ Lam,” said he, “ I’m in an awful mess, and I 
want your advice.” 

Mr. Coles looked grave. Rahl was not in the 
habit of asking for advice. He decided that his 
suspicions had come true, and that he must help 
him out of this scrape. 

‘‘ Out with it,” he said, mixing some punch for 
Rahl, who sat down opposite him. 


MBS. CHIVICK PLEADS. 


139 


“Oh, Lam [’’exclaimed Mr. Rittenhouse, pound- 
ing the table with his clenched fist until the 
glasses rattled, “I’ll go crazy if this keeps on 
much longer ; I can’t stand it.” 

“Yes, old boy,” soothingly, handing him the 
punch ; “ she’s up-town, isn’t she ?” 

“ She lives on Caterpillar street; but I’d marry 
her to-morrow.” 

“ Keep cool — keep cool. What’s her name?” 

“ Jackson,” returned Rahl, on whom the punch 
was having a quieting influence. 

“Jackson, of Caterpillar street,” repeated Mr. 
Coles, reflectively. “ Don’t believe I know the 
party. What’s the old man — butcher?” 

“ Hang it, Lamberton, you do know her ; she 
stayed with Edith Shew, and had a great deal of 
attention at my aunt’s ball.” 

Mr. Coles’ face brightened ; he drew a breath of 
relief. “Then she’s not a native of Caterpillar 
street. You’re sure it’s not a passing fancy, old 
boy ?” 

“You know. Coles, I never have passing fancies. 


140 


3nSS NANCY. 


as you do. This is serious, and if I don’t get 
her, I’ll go to the devil, as sure as fate.” 

“ Steady ! steady ! Rahlie ; I have an idea. If 
you’re sure that you’re in earnest, with a great 
deal of care it may come right. In June, when 
every one’s out of town, you can marry her very 
quietly; then go to London — anything American 
in the way of girls takes there — so you can let 
her get in with the toniest set; then in two or 
three years bring her back, make her keep her 
mouth shut about Caterpillar street, and get Mrs. 
Rittenhouse to bring her out. Exert all your 
family influence, and there you are — all right! 
What do you say to that ?” Much to his sur- 
prise Rahl’s face did not brighten. “ Or else,” he 
added, sarcastically, ‘'you might take a little 
house up town, and become a caterpillar your- 
self.” 

“The trouble is. Coles,” said Rahl, a little 
unsteadily, “ she cuts me on the street, and asked 
me to leave the house.” 

His friend looked puzzled, as well he might; 


MBS. CHIVICK PLEADS. 141 

for he could not conceive of any girl, much less 
an up-town one, who would not jump at Rahl. 

“Why, it’s more complicated than I thought it 
was. What’s she got to make her stuck up?” 

“ She’s proud — proud as a Picot,” using an old 
Philadelphia proverb. 

“ If you want me to help you, you’d better tell 
me the whole story,” settling himself patiently to 
listen. 

Rahl rose from his chair and began to pace up 
and down the room, with his hands in his pockets. 

“Well, ” he commenced, “ I met her when she 
was at the Shews. She’s from West Virginia. I 
paid her a lot of attention — told her I’d send her 
the Assembly Book, and asked her to take a 
walk with me after she left the Shews, and then I 
found out where she was going, and I determined 
to cut her, and I did — refused her the book and 
didn’t go walking with her. Like a fool, I 
wouldn’t speak to her at the Charity. I didn’t 
care whether she was angry or not. Then I met 
her on the street one day; she slipped in the 


142 


3nss NANCY. 


mud, and I helped to pick her up ; and again, 
like a fool, I took her home, and went in and 
spent the evening ; and after that I tell you it was 
hopeless. Though she showed she hated me, I 
kept going to the house and made a friend of her 
aunt. Then last Saturday I went there. She 
refused to see me, and I forced my way in. There 
was an awfully common-looking woman there. I 
made fun of her when she went. Nancy was 
furious, and told me I could leave. I did, and 
since then she cuts me on the street. I know that 
•Baltimore man — Latrobe — is at the bottom of it. 
I’d like to shoot myself; for I’ve no chance.” 

“Well, old boy, I can’t say that sort of conduct 
is just the kind to win a girl. So she’s the one 
Latrobe comes over to see. When I was in 
Baltimore I heard them say he meant business.” 

“What a fool — what a fool i‘ve been,” groaned 
Rahl, still marching up and down the room. “ Is 
. there anything I can do, Lam. ?” 

Mr. Coles felt alarmed ; he had never seen Rit- 
tenhouse in such an abject state before, and he 


MBS. CHIVICK PLEADS. 


143 


was fearful of the consequences. Though the 
case looked hopeless to him, he could not help 
trying to give him a little encouragement. 

“You wait a week or two,” he said, “and give 
her a chance to feel sorry. A woman always gets 
sorry, sooner or later. Watch Latrobe’s move- 
ments ; that’s all you can do.” 

“ Is there anything I can send her ?” 

“ No, nothing ; she would take it as an insult. 
I say, Rahlie, make your aunt call on her.” 

A faint smile came on the other’s woe-begone 
face. “ I’d like to see any one make her,” he 
said. 

“Well,” returned Coles, who felt this was a 
bright idea, “ tell her you’ll do anything — marry 
Maude even — if she’ll only do it.” 

“ No, I don’t want her to get wind of it, and, 
besides, I’d rather be hanged than mariy^ Maude. 
If I can’t get Nancy I won’t marry any one.” 

“That’s,” said Mr. Coles, rubbing his hands 
together, “ that’s only a ruse ; for you’ve treated 
your ladylove very shabbily, and I don’t blame 


144 


MISS NANCY. 


her for ordering you out of the house. She must 
have a good deal of nerve, though, to do it. 
What’s her charm, anyway ?” 

“You would say it was her temper if you could 
hear her talk to me; but I don’t know what it is.” 

“ Well,” said Coles, seeing Rahl was about to 
depart. “ That’s what you do — watch them ; but 
don’t you go near her.” 

Mr. Coles sat there by the fire a long time after 
Mr. Rittenhouse had left, thinking over the con- 
versation he had just had. He was rather fond 
of philosophizing. “ It’s a queer world,” he said 
to himself. “ Think of Rahl Rittenhouse being 
bagged by an up-town girl; it’s a judgment on 
him, poor old fellow — he’s got it bad — pleasant 
surprise for his family. I don’t see the faintest 
hope for him. Anyway, I’ll do my best for him.” 
And so his thoughts flowed on, the fire burnt 
low, the room grew chilly, and Mr. Coles retired 
for the night. 


A THEATRE PARTY. 


145 


CHAPTER IX. 

A THEATRE PARTY. 


I 


J^AHL,” said Mrs. Rittenhouse, one Satur- 
day morning, as she and her nephew sat 
together at luncheon , “ if you have no very par- 
ticular engagement for this evening I would like 
you to go with us to the theatre. Maude invited 
Mr. Cadams, so I bought a stall.” 

Mrs. R. having spent the summer abroad some 
ten years before, had not been able to reaccustom 
herself to calling things by their American names, 
and indiscriminately spoke of all theatre boxes as 
“ stalls.” 

It must be explained that Mr. Cadams was the 
sallow-^ complected” youth upon whom Maude’s 
fickle affections had lately fastened. 

“ I have no engagement,” Rahl answered, 
slowly, as though he would have given any 


146 


3nss NANCY. 


reasonable sum of money if he could truthfully 
have said he had. 

And so it happened that when Nancy and 
Latrobe entered the theatre that same evening, 
Rahl, in his aunt’s box, gave a start of surprise 
at so unexpectedly seeing the familiar little figure 
whose image was now constantly in his thoughts. 

It had taken a tedious exercise of Nancy’s 
sweetest persuasive powers to lead Aunt Hannah 
into the belief that to see Irving and Terry was a 
necessity to the higher development of youth. 
The estimable lady was wont to look upon all 
places of amusement as fitted up and furnished by 
the evil one for the exhibition of his most artistic 
temptations; but at last she yielded when an 
appeal was made to her great hobby — the highest 
development of the female mind. The pleasure 
of having been permitted to enter one of these 
Satanic temples having been obtained with such 
difficulty, Nancy came fully prepared to enjoy it. 

In a few minutes she was entirely absorbed in 
the performance, which had commenced just as 


A THEATRE PARTY. 147 

they reached their seats in the parquet. Rahl’s 
eyes had never moved from her face; he watched 
it untiringly, from the position he had taken, 
with his back to the stage. Not for all the plays 
in Christendom would he have lost a single in- 
stant’s sight of that dear face. He had been 
hungering in vain to see it; for after his last 
stormy interview he dared not trespass where he 
had been ordered to leave. It had been a severe 
blow to his pride, yet he could calmly reflect now 
that the provocation had been sufficient to war- 
rant such an order. He felt, rather bitterly, too, 
that his spirit had been broken, and he could 
almost have humbled it further by asking per- 
mission to return; but how could he find a 
chance to ask anything ? Yes, he could have 
asked anything — done anything — to escape the 
suffering he now endured ; whole nights he had 
walked the floor, with that haunting, intangible 
face ever before him, mocking him with merry 
smiles, or with such a grieved look in the 
beautiful eyes that he cursed his unkindness. 


148 


3IISS JS^ANCY. 


And now, when he could gaze unrestrainedl}^ 
should anything prevent him ? 

When the curtain fell and Nancy turned 
enthusiastically to Latrobe, she suddenly caught 
sight of the party in Mrs. Rittenhouse’s box, and 
met Rahl’s intent gaze upon her. She could 
read him now like a book. She knew very well 
that he was in love with her — knew the jealousy 
of his passionate disposition hidden under such a 
cool exterior, and the pride that kept him from 
becoming her acknowledged lover. This last 
thought always wounded her to the quick ; but at 
last she saw an opportunity for a little provoking 
revenge, and she took it. All the coquetry in 
her nature came gleefully to the surface. From 
that moment till the end of the play she made 
poor, innocent Furness wildly happy by all man- 
ner of charming witcheries . She smiled gayly at 
his poorest speeches, glanced up at him sweetly 
to ask the simplest questions, or laid her hand 
for an instant appealingly on his arm, to call his 
attention here or there. Rahl bit his lip with 


A THE ATE E FAETY. 149 

savage vexation, as he saw Latrobe, thus encour- 
aged, lean very often toward the dainty ear to 
whisper some tender nothing; he knew it must 
be love-sick nonsense, else why should Nancy 
flush so prettily and laugh with such shy con- 
sciousness each time. After that first act she 
lost herself no more with the players; for not one 
instant did she forget whose eyes were watching 
her; not an actress on the mimic stage before 
them played her part with more skill than inex- 
perienced Nancy. 

As the curtain finally went down on both 
dramas — the one before and the other behind it — 
Latrobe suggested that they should celebrate their 
emancipation from Miss Green’s tyranny by taking 
supper. No objection being raised to this propo- 
sition, they were soon seated at one of the small 
tHe-a-tUe tables in the Bellevue restaurant. The 
waiter had taken the order, and Nancy was just 
pulling off her gloves, when the door opened, and 
Mrs. Rittenhouse entered, in her stately, imposing 
style; then followed Maude, with her sallow 


150 


3IISS ^'^ANCY. 


retainer; lastly, Rahl himself. Nancy looked at 
him deliberately — no sign of recognition on her 
face, though her heart beat loud and fast, as she 
turned, with a laughing response, to Latrobe’s 
gay speech. They sat down, the Rittenhouse 
party so near that all their remarks could be 
overheard. Nancy had still further opportunity 
to keep up her clever bit of acting, and taking 
advantage of the silence which followed their 
arrangement at the table, she leaned towards 
Latrobe to say, in her low, clear voice, as though 
continuing a previous conversation, <‘Yes, indeed, 
I was wretchedly unhappy till you came back 
from the West.” 

Crash ! went a glass of water on their neighbors' 
table. 

Mrs. Rittenhouse jumped with more agility 
than grace from her chair. There is a time for 
ease of manner and a time — less time in this 
case — to save a brand new Ottoman silk. 

“ Rahl, you awkward man ! how did you do 
that? ” she exclaimed angrily, her face unbecom- 
ingly red. 


A THEATRE PARTY. 151 

Rahl’s was white and set, as he gravely apolo- 
gized for the accident.” 

“Accident, indeed!” wrathfully echoed his aunt; 
“great accident to go jogging your elbows all 
over the table.” 

The two amused spectators put their heads 
together. “ Miss Nancy,” whispered Latrobe, 
“those are the Rittenhouses, ‘ the nobility of the 
land,’ according to my lady’s definition of her 
pedigree.” 

Nancy smiled; but her excitement was on the 
wane. That glass of water had been the climax, 
and now she wanted only to escape the gaze of 
her limited audience. Besides, she was mortified 
that the Rittenhouses should have seen her there, 
in a restaurant, with a gentleman and unattended 
by a chaperon. To her Southern mind the many 
formalities governing the intercourse between 
girls and men in Philadelphia were very perplex- 
ing ; but she had been informed early in her visit 
that, no matter how lively the chaperon or how 
recently made one, her presence was the one 


152 


MISS MAMCY. 


thing necessary for propriety’s sake. She hoped 
and prayed Maude had not noticed her. Mrs. 
Rittenhouse was too near-sighted, and she be- 
lieved Mr. Cadams too stupid to remember her. 
In spite of such uncomfortable speculations she 
ate her supper leisurely, and kept the talk running 
pleasantly during their long ride home through 
the silent streets ; so that when they arrived at 
2013 Caterpillar street, Latrobe vowed, in his 
hearty way, that it was the j oiliest evening he had 
ever spent. 

“Won’t you come in?” Nancy said, as he 

« 

opened the door with Miss Green’s latch-key; 
“ it’s early.” 

“Of course I will,” he answered, “unless you 
think Aunt Hannah may mistake me for another 
burglar, and assail me with her trusty weapon.” 

“Why, you forget; it was I who fired that 
pistol, and I object seriously to the credit being 
given to any one else.” 

A prolonged and dismal howl made itself heard 
at this point; then the rattling crash of im- 


A THEATliE PAliTY. 153 

provised ammunition. Nancy turned pale, and 
grasped Latrobe’s arm. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed, with a breath of relief, 
“ I know what it is. Some one throwing things 
at Darnit.” 

“ What things ?” asked he, as they both started 
to open the back door. 

“ Why, empty cans and boxes — sometimes ink- 
stands — and one old lady threw her rubber shoes 
the other night, and in the morning, when she 
came for them, she told Aunt Hannah if that 
^purp’ wasn’t kept in the house she’d have us 
arrested for harboring a nuisance.” 

“And, pray, why don’t you keep him in the 
house ? I’m sure it’s no fun for him being hit by 
every old dragon’s No. 9 shoes. It’s a wonder 
that the first pair didn’t knock him into eternity.” 

“ But Aunt Hannah won’t have him in the 
house; he’s to keep off burglars, and he has a 
nice big box, with straw; but he won’t stay in it, 
but just howls and whines all night.” 

“Come here, old fellow,” said Latrobe, stoop- 


154 


3IISS NANCY. 


ing, kindly, to address poor shivering Darnit; 
“let me see how many battle-scars you bear. 
Here’s a big one, Miss Nancy, that must have 
come from somebody’s scraper.” 

“It did,” Nancy returned, mournfully. “That’s 
Mrs. Chivick’s autograph; she kicked him all the 
way down the entry for chewing her fringe.” 

“ The wretch !” exclaimed Latrobe, savagely. 
“ But, Darnit, old boy, they don’t seem to treat you 
as a gentleman of your luxurious habits is accus- 
tomed to being regarded, and it strikes me we’d 
better both go home to Baltimore.” 

Darnit stopped quivering to wag his tail, with 
an intelligent yelp of delight. 

“But,” protested Nancy, “I want him, and you 
gave him to me to keep.” 

“Well, then, as I want him badly, there’s only 
one way to make a satisfactory arrangement — 
take me to keep, too.’' 

Nancy laughed. “ In the yard ?” 

“ No ; in your heart. Darnit considers that an 
excellent place. Look at him. See how his ears 


A THEATRE PARTY. 155 

I 

! 

I and tail have assumed the perpendicular to catch 
I your lightest whisper. Which is it ? Shall we go 
j or stay ? Listen, Darnit.” 

j “But how can I tell you both want to stay?” 

; smiled Nancy. 

“ Why, see. Darnit proves his desire ; for he 
has climbed into your lap, and I, little one,” — all 
the fun dying out of his voice — “ I love you too 
dearly ever to want to go.” 

I Nancy jumped up regardless of Darnit’s down- 
fall, and wildly debated whether to laugh or cry^ 
jor, better still, to run. She honestly liked La- 
! trobe, and if a vague suspicion ever crossed her 
mind that this scene would sometime occur, she 
put it away from her to enjoy the present. 

“I don’t love him as I ought,” she now said to 
herself, “and how can I tell him so?” It was a 
i very different thing to manage poor quaking 
little Dick ; but Latrobe was so big and manly. 

Nancy felt him take her hands in his — heard 
him whisper, “ Darling, I didn’t mean to frighten 
you,” and her face crimsoned as she remembered 


15G 


MISS MAJSrCY. 


all the encouragement she had given him. Some- 
thing in her drooping head gave Latrobe an idea 
of what was passing in her mind. “ If you are | 
not quite sure, little one,” he said, turning her 
face upwards, gently, till the gray eyes looked i 
full into his own; “if you are not quite sure you 
like me, I can wait.” 

The face so loving and tender, the smile so 
sweet and grave, the gentle hand, all seemed to 
carry Nancy out of herself, and to make of her a 
better, more worthy girl. “I am sure,” she cried, ! 
impulsively; and she felt sure, as the strong arms 
were folded round her, and the kiss that sealed 
her betrothal pressed on her lips. 

Oh, Nancy, with that noble fellow’s heart beat- a 
ing so near your own, how could your wicked 
thoughts turn to another ? How could you think, 
with just a little sigh, of how another man would 
have told the old sweet story? How can you 

4 

wonder whether you would not have been happier 
had that some one else taken you in his arms ? 

Nancy cut short her ruminations with a little i 


A THEATRE PARTY. 


157 


. moral shake ; she had plighted her troth, and no 
I other man should come into her head. But, oh, 
. dear ! she didn’t want to give Rahl up just as she 
fwas beginning to enjoy their little battles. A 
[bright idea came to her. “I’m engaged now, I 
ijsuppose?” looking up at Latrobe, archly. 

He laughed. “Well, I should just think you 
were.” 

“Then will you grant me a favor, engaged 
man? Mind, you don’t dare refuse my first, and 
you musn’t ask any embarrassing questions.” 
Nancy’s eyes sparkled, as she went bravely on : 
“ I don’t want any one to know of this little trans- 
action between us until summer time, when you 
come to see me at Berkeley. After that you may 
tell any one you want. Will you promise not to 
tell?” 

“ It shall be always as my lady wills.” With 
true Southern gallantry he bent over her little 
hand, and Nancy — scheming Nancy — felt a little 
shame creep up in her heart; but she put it down 
las she softly caressed the curls on the bowed head. 

“You know,” she said, feeling some explana- 


158 


mss NANCY. 


tion was due even to such blind submission, “ I 
had to come to an understanding with Dick 
Chivick; and his mother — well, she’s rather made 
up her mind that I’ve got to marry him. I’m 
afraid she might wax a little wroth if she heard 
of you.” Nancy shivered; down in her heart she 
really had a wholesome dread of Mrs. Chivick. 

The excuse was excellent. Furness laughingly 
promised to keep the secret from all save his 
immediate family, and, with a reluctance only 
natural under the new circumstances, at last tore 
himself away. 

Oh, Nancy! Nancy! What would he have 
thought had he heard those stifled sobs and seen 
the big tears on your pillow? Never let his 
great heart be wounded by the knowledge of 
how you spent that first night of your betrothal ; 
never let him know that you dared weep and 
moan because, in his stead, Rahl Rittenhouse had 
not asked for your love; but kneel and pray, as 
you knelt and prayed that night, for grace, till, 
with truth in your eyes, you can look your lover 
bravely in the face and honestly say: “ I am sure!” 


AN AFTEBNOON WALK, 


159 


CHAPTER X. 

AN AFTERNOON WALK. 

^HESTNUT street was thronged with its cus- 
tomary Sunday promenaders the next after- 
noon, when Nancy and Latrobe started on their 
usual walk. Young and old — but principally 
young — had turned out in force to enjoy the 
clear, fresh air, that brought the color tingling 
into pretty cheeks — made bright eyes sparkle and 
merry tongues rattle, as the belles and beaux of 
gallant Philadelphia jostled each other briskly on 
this favorite walk. 

Daylight was just melting into dusk when at 
last our two friends turned to retrace their steps. 
Many people were taking a little jaunt to stretch 
their stiffened members after listening to an hour’s 
discourse in church. Such^ ones walked ener- 
getically, as though rather glad than otherwise 


160 


3nss NANCY. 


that their Sunday duties were over; and, judging 
from many a sleek, well-fed face, one would say 
that the flesh was stronger than the spirit. 

Suddenly, Nancy burst in on Latrobe’s cursory 
description of the passing people : “ Oh, dear! mv 
boots are killing me!” 

I’m awfully sorry, darling. We must ride the 
rest of the way home, and why didn’t you tell 
me sooner? New shoes, are they?” he asked, 
pityingly, as he noticed for the first time how her 
face was drawn with pain. There was no car in ^ 
sight, and Nancy would not think of waiting. 
“Then,” said Latrobe, decidedly, “ you must take 
my arm. Why don’t you throw such instruments 
of torture to the dogs — at them, would suit better . 
the warlike tendencies of your neighborhood, 
though, wouldn’t it ?” he continued, as she obedi- ^ 
ently put her hand on his arm. < 

“ But, you see, they are brand new, and I can’t 
afford to waste them,” looking ruefully at the ^ 
trim little pointed toes. “ Besides, you oughtn’t ] 
to teach extravagance to a girl who expects to 
marry a poor man.” < 


AJSr AFTERNOON WALK. 


101 


“Why, Nancy,” he exclaimed, in the greatest 
surprise, “you don’t believe I’m poor, do you?” 

“Yes,” she smiled. 

Latrobe pressed her arm to his side in delight 
at this great proof of affection. ^ 

“Look!” he said, a few minutes later, “here 
comes a great Philadelphia swell — nice enough 
sort of fellow, barring his conceit.” 

Nancy withdrew her interest from the painful 
boots to glance at the individual in question. 
With a queer, breathless pause of her heart-beat- 
ing, she saw Rahl raise his hat to Latrobe, but 
with such a strange expression on his handsome 
face as he met her eyes, that several seconds 
passed before she managed to say, quietly, “Yes, 
I know him.” 

“ He was with the Countess Boyli, wife of the 
Italian Minister. Rittenhouse always prefers the 
high and mighty rulers of the universe. But 
isn’t this woman now sailing down on us — -the 
one in remarkable gear — a friend of yours ? See 
how she scowls at me I Nancy, what have I 
done ?” 


162 


3nss 3^AXCY. 


“ It’s Mrs. Bolter, and she is not a friend of 
mine.” 

The answer was sharp, but her lover kindly 
laid it to the shoes, which he mentally consigned 
to a warmer climate ; while Nancy, oblivious to 
everything, wondered if Rahl would think her 
engaged, seeing her hand in Latrobe’s arm, and 
whether she would have an opportunity soon to 
tell him about her new shoes; for Mr. Coles’ pre- 
diction had come true, and she was heartily sorry 
for her sliarp words of a few weeks back, and very 
anxious to make up, provided she would not have 
to sacrifice her dignity. Of course, Mrs. Bolter 
would take the news home; but Nancy did not 
care very much for that, except she did rather 
dread the remarks Mrs. Chivick would be sure to 
make. 

Home reached and the instruments of torture 
discarded for dainty little slippers, she felt enough 
better to enter gayiy into Latrobe’s mood when 
he caught Darnit up in his arms, and solemnly 
addressed that trembling creature: ‘‘Your name 


Alf AFTERNOOJ^ WALK. 163 

shall no more be called Darnit, but Blessit, in 
grateful remembrance of the important part 
played by you in the great act of two lives. Oh, 
Nancy! sweetheart!” he cried, impulsively, break- 
ing off his little speech, “ with Heaven’s blessing, 
I mean to make you eternally glad of the promise 
you gave me last night.” 

The door bell pealed out merrily to an impa- 
tient hand ; then followed the usual dialogue with 
Maria: “Yes, Miss Nancy was in.” “Alone?” 
“Oh,, no; there was a gent with her.” Maria 
here flung open the parlor door to substantiate 
her statement of “ the gent,” and Mr. Rittenhouse 
appeared on the threshold. 

When Rahl arose that same lovely Sunday 
morning, he had no more idea of calling on 
Nancy than have you or I. He knew he would 
see her some time ; but it might not be until he 
found himself at Berkeley, in the summer, where 
he had fully determined to go ; but when he met 
her that afternoon, with her arm in Latrobe’s, he 
felt that he must go to her at once — must learn 


1G4 


3IISS NANCY, 


the worst, if she were engaged ; and if not, tear her 
away from this man, who was trying to win her 
from him. He thought he should go mad with 
the jealousy that was raging and burning in his 
heart. The heat of his passion gradually cooled 
as he neared the house on Caterpillar street, and 
it was not without some slight trepidation he 
mounted the steps and quickly pulled the bell. 
It was only when he entered the parlor that he 
felt some explanation of his reappearance was 
necessary after their last stormy interview, and, as 
by inspiration, he hit upon a plausible excuse. 

trust. Miss Jackson,” he began, bravely 
telling his lie, “you will pardon my intrusion; 
but I heard you thought of returning to Berkeley, 
and I was determined you should not leave with- 
out a farewell visit from me.” 

Nancy graciously listened to this obvious fabri- 
cation — all the while her heart was beating wildly 
in glad unison to the thought that he had come 
back at last. He had sacrificed his pride to 
return and humbly — in deed rather than in word 


^liV AFTEBNOON WALK, 165 

— ask her pardon; so she meant to show she 
appreciated this effort and felt gratified by it. 

“I am very glad you came to see me,” she 
said, cordially, “although I have several weeks 
yet to spend in Philadelphia. I believe you and 
Mr. Latrobe are acquainted.” 

“Yes, we have met several times — loved and 
parted, too, haven’t we, Rittenhouse ?” 

This interference from a third party brought 
back all Rahl’s assurance ; his embarrassment 
vanished, as he coolly returned the hearty greet- 
ing of this hated rival. 

“You must have walked up pretty fast,” con- 
tinued that young man; “we haven’t been here 
but a few minutes; and what did you do with the 
countess?” 

“ But, Mr. Latrobe, you know we strolled along 
very slowly, and we had a great deal farther to 
walk. You see,” turning to Rahl, “ my shoes 
were new and painful, so Mr. Latrobe kindly 
gave me his arm to lean on. Now,” she 
thought, “after that he’ll understand I’m not 
engaged.” 


1G6 


MISS HANCY. 


And he did. How easy it is to doubt what we 
do not want to believe, and how many excellent 
reasons can be brought forward in proof of our 
desired way of thinking. Rahl felt now that he 
had been foolishly hasty in imagining there could 
be any serious relations between these two, 
just because he had seen them together a few 
times. No doubt Nancy liked him — why shouldn’t 
she like a man who was so evidently attentive ? 
But liking and loving were very different. She 
could like as many men as she pleased; she must 
love only him. And so with his thoughts turning 
into this pleasant channel, he began to feel like 
his old self — the contented, conceited, fascinating 
Rahl. Even Latrobe came within range of his 
genial humor, and they chatted gayly of mutual 
friends in Baltimore — of its reputation for beauty, 
in which Latrobe stoutly protested it should yield 
the palm to Philadelphia; while Rahl politely 
maintained the opposite. Nancy laughed right 
merrily at their funny arguments and witty criti- 
cisms till the supper-bell surprised them all with 


AJSr AFTEEJS^OON WALK. 137 

its tale of the late hour. Rahl rose promptly to 
depart, refusing Nancy’s cordial invitation to 
remain, feeling that it would only hurt his cause 
to again forget his dignity by staying. He was a 
politic man, this friend of ours, and knew, through 
a long-tried experience of fair ladies, that a cer- 
tain amount of self-humiliating homage is a most 
flattering tribute; but when that limit is passed, 
and the homage becomes servility, then a man 
receives only their pity and contempt. 

So Rahl gracefully acknowledged and regretted 
the kind invitation, desired his regards to be con- 
veyed to Miss Green, and bowed himself into the 
the hall. There Nancy followed him, with a mis- 
chievous look in her gray eyes. 

“Mr. Rittenhouse,” she said, “as I am not 
returning immediately to Berkeley, I hope you 
will not think of allowing me to leave without a 
farewell visit from you.” 

Rahl turned and eagerly clasped the half-ex- 
tended hand. 

“Are we friends again?” he asked, in a hoarse 


voice. 


168 


3nss NANCY. 


“We never were.” 

“ Then let us begin now, this very moment.” 
Passionately, the next question came: “May I 
call soon ?” 

“ My permission has seemed unnecessary thus 
far — perhaps you can still do without it.” 

Rahl looked at her. No tone in her voice 
betrayed aught but indifference; but there was a 
flush on her cheeks and the faint shadow of dim- 
ples, that proved Miss Jackson to be thoroughly 
enjoying this scene. 

Some very strong feeling must have moved 
Mr. Rittenhouse, for he did what no one ever 
saw him do before — raise a lady’s hand to his 
lips and kiss it — not gallantly, as befitted a cour- 
teous gentleman, but passionately — tenderly — as 
only a lover could. 

Though the night was cold and chill for that 
time of year, Rahl several times wiped the mois- 
ture from his face as he walked homeward. This 
man, who had stood invulnerable to the fascina- 
tions of the most beautiful women, fell mortally 


AX AFl^EItXOOX WALK. 


169 


wounded by the bright eyes of this little country 
girl. He determined, with set teeth, as he strode 
along that Sunday night, to woo and win her, 
too. He no longer doubted that he could. 
Doubt it ! Rahl laughed. How could any one — 
least of all himself — doubt his success in any 
courtship? A cheerful evening with Coles and 
a night’s perfect rest restored him to his old 
egotistical self-sufficiency. 

For just one instant Nancy stood where he had 
left her, one soft cheek resting on her hand, 
where his lips had touched it; then she ran 
lightly up to her room, there to wash and rub it 
carefully, as from a stain. 

Miss Hannah and Latrobe joked her a little 
about the long interview in the hall, and she 
wondered slightly how the latter — loving her so 
deeply — could fail to have some jealous feeling. 
But he was too true himself to doubt her. If 
any such natural sensation did trouble him, it was 
all dispelled when he heard Nancy say, with a 
toss of her proud little head, and in answer to a 


170 


HISS NANCY. 


criticism from Miss Green, “Yes, he is rather 
attractive; but too grandly superior to suit my 
taste.” 

The evening passed rapidly, as evenings are 
wont to do when spent in pleasant company. 

“Write to me every day, Nancy,” Latrobe was 

\ 

saying, as the clock politely told him it was time 
to go. 

“But I shall have nothing much to write 
about.” 

“ Then make the descriptions long,” he laughed. 
“ 1 will stay at home evenings particularly to read 
them. And now, little one, it is good-bye till 
next Sunday. Six days ! What an eternity ! It 
didn’t take a day longer to make this whole 
world ! Nancy,’^ he said, breaking off suddenly, 
“ tell me again you love me.” 

“Did I ever make such a bold assertion?” 
meditatively; “if so, it must have been in a mo- 
ment of wild delirium ; for watch the blush of 
maidenly reserve mount into my right cheek at 
the idea,” pinching it as she spoke. “Any- 


AN' AFTNENOON WALK. 


171 


thing/’ she thought, “rather than tell him a 
story.” She knew now which she loved the best; 
yet why did she not tell this kind-hearted fellow 
[h.2 mistake she had made ? why not put the case 
plainly before him; he would be hurt and grieved, 
— perhaps heart-broken for a time — but he would 
soon get over it; all men do. And how much 
better that would be than to let him go on 
believing the lie she would have to spend her life 
acting. It would be kinder to herself, besides 
far, far kinder to him. Nancy looked up shyly in 
his face, at the loving eyes and firm, kind mouth. 
Once more that inexplicable feeling — that queer 
transport — seized her, and she softly returned his 
tender good-bye. 


172 


MISS MAMCY. 




CHAPTER XI. 

“GOOD-BYE, MISS NANCY.” 

^HE next day Nancy announced her engage- 
ment to her aunt, and was greatly amused 
at her surprise. Though uncommonly keen in 
public matters, and able to tell the signs of the 
times most accurately. Miss Hannah was entirely 
ignorant of what transpired around her. She was 
very much pleased, and, in her kindly, brusque 
way, informed Nancy she was “doing well.” 

It was not long before Mrs. Bolter appeared on 
the scene, very important and sympathetic. Miss 
Hannah tried hard to parry her attacks; but 
when asked directly about it, of course she told 
the truth. 

“When I saw she had his arm,” said Marne, “I 
knew what had happened. I remember so well, 
when the doctor and I were first engaged, I 


GOOD-BYE, MISS NANCY, 173 

wouldn’t take his arm for the longest time, I was 
that bashful.” 

“Nancy has too much sense to be bashful,” 
returned Miss Hannah.” 

“You dear girl!” exclaimed Mrs. Bolter, as 
Nancy entered the room. “My, but you were 
sly about it.” 

Nancy smiled ; Mrs. Bolter always amused her. 

“ I had not been engaged long when you saw 
me,” she replied, knowing it was of no use now 
to deny it. 

“ He’s so gentlemanly and has such elegant 
manners. I was very much pleased with him the 
night of the Charity Ball. I know just how you 
feel,” in a tone of the most tender sympathy. 

“ Indeed you don’t,” said Nancy to herself. 

“ I guess the family will think it’s hard on 
Dick,” continued Mrs. Bolter ; “ but, as I said to 
the doctor, 'Fred.,’ says I, 'just think of all the 
gentlemen I threw over to marry you.’ Why, 
when I accepted the doctor’s proposal there was 
one young gentleman I was actually afraid to 


174 


HISS HAHCY, 


tell, and he took on awful — said he was going to 
cut his throat.” 

“What did happen to him?” inquired Nancy, 
politely. 

“ Oh, he went in the shoe business on Eighth 
street, and he’s done splendid. I must say, 
though, I think a profession is more high-toned 
than a trade.” 

Much to Nancy’s delight Mrs. Bolter was soon 
compelled to take her leave. 

“Just stopped in a minute to congratulate 
you,” she explained, as she departed in the direc- 
tion of the Chivick’s, brimming over with her 
news. 

Mr. Rittenhouse paid two or three visits to 
2013 this same week, and Nancy not only saw 
him, but made herself as bewitching as possible. 
When Rahl next encountered Mr. Coles that 
gentleman hardly knew him for the same man ; 
he was so gay and jovial— so foolishly happy. 

“ I believe there’s hope, Lam.,” he cried. “And 
I intend to carry out your little idea, and when 


GOOD-BYE, mss NANCY. 175 

we come back from Europe you shall dine with 
us every day, if you like. I will even let you be 
her german partner at her first Assembly.” 

“ But what of Latrobe ?” 

Oh, he’s a kind of brother-^no fear of him.” 

“ Have a care, my boy,” said Coles, gravely, 
not wishing Rahl to become too much elated. 

That girl’s dangerous. I w’ouldn’t meet her for 
a hundred dollar bill. She’s like tobacco — the 
more you have of her, the more you want and 
Mr. Coles smiled at his witty comparison. 

The weather this spring was, to speak mildly, 
atrocious; one rainy day succeeded another, until 
at last a drizzle was hailed with delight, while a 
mist brought sunshine to many faces. One Sun- 
day in the early part of April, when Latrobe 
came on from Baltimore, he found his little sweet- 
heart more than ordinarily winsome. She had 
been shut up in the house for two or three days, 
and welcomed his cheerful presence as an inter- 
ruption to the monotony. 

Aunt Hannah was very thoughtful about the 


176 


HISS NANCY. 


lovers, — almost too much so, in fact, — for she 
insisted upon leaving them alone many a time 
when Nancy found the minutes pass too slowly. 
Now that the excitement of winning his love 
was over, these visits had lost something of their 
charm. 

*‘What good care you take of yourself,” she 
remarked, as he deposited his heavy arctics and 
big overcoat in the entry. 

“That’s for the old lady’s sake. She pre- 
sented me with those arctic explorers, and be- 
sought me to wear them. What are you going 
to sit by the window for? You won’t see any 
one passing such an afternoon as this.” 

“Yes, in a few minutes, little Dick Chivick 
will, on his way to Sunday-school. You know 
he teaches the Bible-class, and, altogether, has 
grown awfully good. He never looks up at the 
house now, and never comes near me.” 

“That shows the infant has some sense. I 
hope he hasn’t discarded the watch-cha*i with 
the other vanities of this world. It would make 
a splendid anchor for him in this gale.” 


GOOD-BYE, MISS NANCY. 


177 


“ There he is !” she exclaimed. 

And sure enough, a patient little figure was 
plodding along, trying to steady its umbrella 
against the wind. 

Nancy ran to the door. “ Mr. Chivick !” she 
called, “won’t you come in and get dry? You 
will catch your death of cold.” 

Dick blushed crimson, as he halted in front of 
the steps. “ I haven’t time. Miss Nancy,” he 
said. “ It’s Bible-class hour.” 

“You ought to have rubbers on and a heavy 
coat,” continued Miss Nancy. “ But I must not 
keep you standing in the rain. Why don’t you 
come to see me sometime ?” 

“ May I come after Sabbath-school?” he asked, 
timidly. 

“ Of course you may. Good-bye.” Shutting 
the door, she returned to the parlor window. 
“ He is not properly wrapped up,” she said, as 
they watched him struggle on. 

“ They oughtn’t to let him go out in such 
weather; he is too delicate to stand it,” returned 
Latrobe. 


178 


MISS HANCY. 


Poor little Dick ! All his resolutions never to 
see Nancy again, but to turn his thoughts to higher 
things, vanished at the sight of his idol’s face. j| 
How he took himself to task, as he hurried on. || 
When the church was reached he was obliged 
to wipe away a few tears called forth by his weak 
yielding to temptation. His little address, so | 
carefully prepared, failed to produce its proper 
effect on the young men, owing to the many 
times he was compelled to interrupt the elaborate ! 
sentences with prolonged sneezes. But, though 
shaking and aching in every limb, he attended to 
his manifold duties bravely, and no one knew the 
great effort it cost him. 

Meanwhile at 2013 time passed very pleasantly. 

“ Here is a letter mother wrote you,*” Latrobe 
said, handing it to her. It was full of the utmost 
kindness, and contained a warm invitation to visit 
them on her way home. “Won’t you come?” 
he asked, eagerly. 

Nancy smiled on him sweetly. “ I am afraid 
you will get tired of me if I go. It would be 


GOOD-BYE, MISS MANGY. 179 

nice, though,” reflectively, “to stay with your 
family; for, strange as it may seem, I rather like 
them.” 

“ Thanks for the faint praise.” 

“ Do you remember, Furness, that day I came 
on to Philadelphia?” 

“ Indeed I do.” 

“And do you remember how I wondered if I 
should be a success and have a nice time? It 
seems queer I thought of such a thing, for I 
haven’t been a success — no one has taken any 
notice of me.” 

“You didn’t have a fair chance. It was all the 
better for me, though.” 

“ Furness, tell me. Did you ever once mind 
coming up to Caterpillar street?” 

“No; the attraction was so great I never no- 
ticed the distance.” 

“You know that isn’t what I mean; please tell 
me.” Nancy was very serious. 

“ Now, surely, you don’t think I am a snob ?” 

“ No ; and I wish I were good enough for you, 


180 


MISS NANCY. 


Furness. Do you know, I am sure I should have 
minded it.” 

He laughed at her continued earnestness. 

“What left-handed compliments you pay. You 
must consider me a man of very little character. 
I think Caterpillar street is the nicest in town, 
and as for 2013 — it’s Paradise!” 

“Would you have thought the same,” rather 
hesitatingly, “if you had been a Philadelphian?” 

“ The very same, only then I might have done 
so much more for you. You are a brave little 
girl, Nancy, to have kept so bright all winter; for 
it must have been pretty dull. If your bad angel 
had not taken Edith Shew away, you might have 
been the gayest of the gay.” 

“ I haven’t been bright ; but I have been cross 
and rude, and altogether horrid,” she said, think- 
ing of her quarrel with Rahl. 

“ Don’t call yourself bad names, sweetheart. 
You have made two people at least very happy; 
one is Aunt Hannah, and I feel a delicacy about 
mentioning t’ other.” 


GOOB-BYE, MISS NANCY. 181 

So they talked on, now merrily, now gravely, 
and, almost before they knew it, some gossamer- 
clad figures notified them that Sunday-school 
was over. Before long there came a feeble little 
peal at the bell, which they both hastened to 
answer; and as Latrobe opened the door, Dick, 
shivering in unison with his chattering teeth, 
staggered into the entry. 

“ I’m so cold,” he stuttered, trying to shake 
hands with Nancy in his usual way. 

He has a chill !” Latrobe said, steadying him. 

‘‘ Go into the kitchen while I get some 
blankets,” she said, running up-stairs 

When she and Aunt Hannah came down, laden 
with blankets and whiskey, they found little Dick 
on the settee before the range. Though they 
wrapped him up, rubbed him and gave him 
whiskey, he only seemed to shiver more vio- 
lently; so Latrobe went in search of Dr. Bolter. 

It was some little time till that young gentle- 
man arrived, as he had to wait for his carriage 
to be brought out. Dr. Bolter would no nothing 


182 


MISS NANCY. 


without the proper style. He said Dick must be 
taken home. 

“Taken home! You’re crazy!” cried Miss 
Hannah, who had not a grain of faith in his 
ability. 

But Dr. Bolter insisted on removing him at 
once; and, bundled up in blankets, poor little 
Dick was carried out to the buggy and consigned 
to the tender mercies of his brother-in-law. 

Now the days in April seemed to fly; for it 
was Nancy’s last month in Philadelphia, and she 
had just begun to realize how dearly she loved 
the Quaker City — even Caterpillar street. The 
softest, tenderest feelings of her nature were 
being brought out by Dick’s illness, which had 
proved most serious. When the trouble with his 
lungs improved, congestion of the brain set in, 
and together they were more than his frail body 
was able to stand. It soon became very evident 
that he could not live. All the vulgarity and 
noisy ways of Mrs. Chivick seemed subdued by 
this terrible affliction. Nancy saw her several 


GOOD-BYE, MISS NANCY, 183 

times, and was appalled by the change. Her 
manner was quiet, her voice low; she wore a 
plain dark dress, and the Thompson wave had 
been discarded. 

About a week before the first of May Miss 
Hannah came home from a visit to the Chivicks. 

“ He’s certainly dying,” she said, nervously 
smoothing her gloves in her lap. “Mrs. Chivick 
says it’s the will of God, and she don’t complain. 
I can’t see, Nancy, how people stand such trou- 
ble. There she sees him getting weaker every 
day, and the worst is his mind’s going.” 

“Poor woman!” said Nancy, softly. “How 
truly good she must be.” 

Miss Hannah sniffed audibly, but made no 
comment. 

During this time Nancy’s only amusement was 
derived from her intercourse with Rahl Ritten- 
house. It was a dangerous pastime ; but she felt 
safe on her own account, and she thought, even 
if it did effect him — did singe his gay butterfly 
^vings — it would do him more good than harm; 


184 


MISS NANCY. 


so, to tell the truth, she flirted desperately with 
him. This does not mean that she flattered his 
weak points and ignored his faults ; that she made 
eyes at him, or in any way showed that he had 
excited more than a passing interest. It means 
simply that she allowed him to come to see her 
very often, Sundays excepted ; that she listened 
to him, fought with him in a graceful, daring 
manner, and, in short, made him fall more hope- 
lessly in love than ever. But she never permitted 
him to send her anything, not even flowers, and 
sometimes tortured him by wearing Latrobe’s 
roses in his presence. She always slipped off her 
engagement ring before he came, and looked as 
innocent as a little child when he tried to sound 
her about Furness. 

Thursday she was to leave Philadelphia, and 
this was Monday, when she sat for the last time 
in the little parlor with Mr. Rittenhouse. 

^‘What a sad occasion this is,” she remarked. 

“But it isn’t the last time I am to see you?” 
questioned Rahl. “ Mayn’t I come up Wednesday 
evening ?” 


GOOD-BYE, MISS NANCY, 


185 


“ No/’ she returned, firmly, knowing Furness 
would be in town then to take her to Baltimore 
the next day. I have an engagement that 
night, and you can’t come to see me off, either. I 
hate to say good-bye.” 

“What would you think if I followed you to 
Berkeley? Would you treat me nicely?” This 
was a little feeler. 

“ Don’t come before the first of June, because I 
won’t be home until then. I am going to Balti- 
more.” 

A jealous pang shot through his heart at the 
ominous word Baltimore. 

“Whom do you visit there?” he demanded, in 
a masterful tone. 

Nancy drew herself up. “ Excuse me, Mr. Rit- 
tenhouse, from answering any such question.” 

When Nancy took this attitude he always be- 
came humble immediately. 

“Please don’t let us quarrel to-night,” he 
pleaded. “Pm awfully sorry.” 

“Well, for once in my life, I will be truly 


186 


mss NANCY, 


amiable. Do you think any one will miss me 
a dangerous softness in her voice. 

“Miss you!” he repeated, absently. “I don’t 
know what I shall do without you. I wonder if 
you know what this winter has been to me.” 

Nancy felt they were approaching dangerous 
ground, so she quickly turned the conversation. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands, “it 
makes me almost wild with joy when I think of 
being home again. And then there’s my blessed 
Jack !” 

“ I believe you care more for that boy than for 
any one in the world.” 

“ Of course I do. If you could only once see 
him you’d like him, too. He is such a thorough 
boy — bad, to be sure, but devoted to me.” 

“ Naturally,” returned Rahl, without much en- 
thusiasm, for he had awful visions of Jack accom- 
panying them in their rambles, and of his having 
to make love to him, too. 

“You will like father; he has so many adven- 
tures to tell. Of course I know them all; but to 


GOOD-BYE, 3nSS NANCY. 187 

a stranger I can imagine their being quite inter- 
esting.” Rahl saw himself listening to stupid 
yarns for hours at a time. “And you must cer- 
tainly like Aunt Sallie,” continued Nancy, mali- 
ciously, seeing his disgusted expression. “ She is 
our old colored cook, and if you bring her a 
bright bandana she’ll be your friend forever.” 

“ But I don’t care to make any friends,” very 
stiffly. 

“ Then why are you coming to Berkeley?” in a 
most innocent tone. 

“ To see you, of course.” 

“Well, then, you must expect to meet all my 
family; for in my home we don’t keep our family 
in the background.” 

Rahl perfectly understood this little insinuation ; 
but, as he could not refute it, he prudently kept 
quie{. 

“Oh, I am so rude!” said impulsive Nancy, 
penitently. “ I do think you have the best temper 
of any one I ever met. Now, I’ll tell you what 
we will do. You come to Berkeley about the 


188 


3ns S JSfANCY. 


middle of June, and we can have a lovely time, 
walking, riding and sitting in the grove. What 
do you say to that ?” 

It sounds delightful. If only there is no disa- 
greeable third party.” 

“What a dreadful night it is ; just listen to the 
rain.” 

“Yes,” he answered; “but it is very cosy in 
here,” a contented feeling stealing over him. 

“ Do you know,” she said, in a confidential 
tone, “ rain always has the most delightful influ- 
ence over me. I love to walk in a steady drizzle, 
when I have my old clothes on. When I am in- 
doors, and it’s storming outside, it makes me 
sentimental.” 

“ How sentimental ?” drawing his chair a little 
closer. 

“Well,” leaning her head sideways, “my heart 
makes frantic httle dives out into space’ for its 
vainly-sought mate. I begin to fancy all sorts of 
things as I listen to the patter. I wonder who he 
is and where he is, and — you can laugh, now!” — 
in an aggrieved tone, seeing him smile. 


GOOD-BYE, MISS NANCY. 189 

There was something so childlike in her sim- 
plicity that it charmed the world-worn man. 

“And do you believe, that at just the right 
moment he will come?” he asked, gently, wishing 
she would talk on. 

“Yes, he will come — and then how we’ll love 
each other.” 

“ I envy that man,” said Rahl, with more 
energy than the occasion called for. “ I would 
give the world to be in his place !” 

Conversation was again drifting into deep 
water, but the little pilot was equal to the need. 
“Oh, you couldn’t fill the part of hero; you’re not 
half tall enough, to begin with.” 

“Goodness gracious!” exclaimed he. “How 
tall do you want him ?” 

“Seven feet at least,” was her laughing re- 
joinder, “and very melancholy, with a fiery 
temper,. and a habit of throwing boots at me — I 
mean, in my dreams.” 

“Pleasing combination; but if you like a man 
with a warm temper I can recommend one.” 


190 


MISS NANCY. 


“ They say people like their opposites ; but it 
isn’t so in this case, for I’m fiery myself. What 
is it, auntie?” for a hollow sound had come down 
the register. 

“ Be sure to bolt the front door.” 

They both laughed. This was Miss Green’s 
neat little way of sending him home. 

“Well,” he said, “I suppose I must go. This 
isn’t good-bye. Miss Nancy, but, as our German 
friends say, ‘auf wiedersehen.’” 

She put her small white hand in his, and he 
pressed it tenderly. Perhaps it was her pressure 
in return, though ever so slight, that prompted 
his next speech. 

“When I come to Berkeley,” he said, in a low 
voice, with a soft look in his dark eyes, “ may I 
say things I dare not now ?” 

Her blushing face drooped. “ Yes,” she replied, 
confusedly, “but I may answer them, too.” 

Slowly, shyly she raised her eyes, then dropped 
them suddenly. In a moment’s wild impulse 
he caught her in his arms and kissed her. “Auf 


GOOD-BYE, MISS NANCY, 191 

wiedersehen,” he murmured, as he released her 
and left the house. 

Nancy sank down on her knees and buried her 
face in the chair. For a moment her vows to 
Furness were forgotten, as she whispered, “I love 
him ! — 1 love him !” But her emotion soon passed 
away and she began to upbraid herself, sorrow- 
fully. “ It was wrong,” she whispered. But she 
was not yet ready to give up this delicious sin, so 
she stifled her thoughts with the plea that she 
would probably never see him again, and if he did 
come to Berkeley by the middle of June, she was 
sure she would be so completely in love with 
Furness that she would have nothing to fear. 
Even then she felt that in her heart she did not 
respect Rahl Rittenhouse, though she believed 
she loved him. 

Next morning a note came from Em., saying 
they w'ished Nancy would call to see Dick before 
she left, as he asked for her so often. That same 
afternoon she went. Mrs. Chivick ushered her up 
into the sitting-room; then closed the door, 


192 


HISS NANCY. 


leaving her alone with Dick. Although it was a 
warm, sultry day, he lay back among his pillows^ 
covered with shawls, a mere shadow of his former 
self. He had entirely lost the natty look that had 
distinguished him. Great preparations had evi- 
dently been made for this visit; for he wore his 
favorite light blue neck-tie, and Mrs. Chivick had 
brushed his hair in a faint imitation of its old, 
glossy smoothness. Some violets and a well- 
thumbed Bible lay on a table by him. 

Nancy was almost frightened by the terrible 
change in him. She knew his mind was not 
clear and that the brain was weakening as rapidly 
as the body. He recognized her at once, and 
made a faint effort to rise; but she sat down 
beside him, taking one of his hands in hers. 

“You know me, don’t you, Dick?” 

“ It’s Miss Nancy,” with a feeble smile. 

Over Dick’s poor clouded brain there crept a 
vague pang. He hardly grasped the idea of her 
engagement, but he felt that something was 
wrong. She patted his hand gently. 


GOOD-BYE, MISS NAECY. 


193 


“ Dick, do you forgive me ?” 

For an instant the vacant look left his face, and 
he was the Dick of old times. 

“You must not reproach yourself. Miss Nancy. 
It was my own fault,” with a gasp. “ I’m proud^ 
to love” — his eyes closed and his head drooped; 
then, with a faint smile, he went on : “ It’ll be in 
the papers — ‘Richard Chivick, aged twenty-two 
years.’” He lay back on his pillows, perfectly 
exhausted. 

Nancy knelt beside him. “ Dick, I must go 
now,” in a voice that shook. “ Say good-bye.” 

The loyal blue eyes opened. “ Good-bye, Miss 
Nancy,” he said slowly, lovingly. 

She leaned down and kissed him — then softly 


went away. 


194 


HISS HAHOY. 


CHAPTER XII. 

RITTENHOUSE TRIUMPHANT. 

bright day in early June the express 
train from Baltimore carried among its pas- 
sengers the neat little gray-robed figure of Nancy 
Jackson. She had spent two weeks with the 
Latrobe family in their beautiful house — been 
ipettQd, feted and made much of — in fact, treated as 
only the promised wife of a beloved son could be. 
When sweet, motherly Mrs. Latrobe bade her 
welcome to their home, and softly called her 
“ daughter,” Nancy’s whole heart went out to 
her; and when Berne greeted her so cordially 
she felt what a perfect home this was that her 
lover was giving her. Had she been everything 
which she was not — old, ugly, ill-natured, or a 
fool — Mrs. Latrobe would have received her in 
the same kind way. She would have given a 


BITTENHOUSE TRIUMPHANT. 195 

hospitable welcome to any girl her son had 
chosen, believing her worthy, having won his 
love. Not so her daughter — sisters are never sub- 
missive to a brother’s matrimonial mistakes; but 
Nancy had won her way into all their hearts 
before she had been with them a day. Besides, 
she had met them casually at Berkeley the summer 
before, when Furness and she had been so much 
together, and they liked her even then. So the 
two weeks in Baltimore flew to their end — all 
sorts of pleasures adding feathers to their wings. 
And now Nancy had waved a last good-bye to the 
group in the station, and was well started on the 
road to Berkeley. As the train whizzed along 
her thoughts wandered back to the journey she 
had taken over that road six months before. 
Then she had wondered if she would return the 
same girl ; now she felt how changed she was — 
older, years older than when she started out — 
worldly now and wicked ; for was she not engaged 
to one man and in love with another? But stop: 
which did she really love ? That was the ever- 


19G 


3IISS NANCY, 


recurring question, answered first this way and 
then that. If such sentiment could exist only in 
the presence of respect and admiration, then she 
must love Latrobe ; but if the feeling that made 
her heart beat and her pulses throb — that brought 
the color flying in loud proclamation to her 
cheeks — that robbed her of sleep and gave her 
happiness only in the presence of its idol, — then, 
certainly, she loved Rahl Rittenhouse. She had 
no respect for him and no admiration — in fact, his 
numerous weaknesses rather excited her con- 
tempt, which sometimes reached such a height 
that she was made to wonder whether she had 
really given her heart to such a man, or if it was 
only pride at the conquest of so noted an indi- 
vidual. Her thoughts were still intent on this 
perplexing theme when the train stopped, and a 
loud Nancy! Nancy!” shouted by a lusty pair 
of lungs, roused the drowsy passengers to the 
exertion of a smile, as a freckled face and red 
head thrust themselves in the car door. In a 
moment the respective owners of the name and 


BITTEmiOUSE TBIUMPHANT. 197 

the voice were out on the platform folded in each 
others’ arms. Several amused spectators peered 
from the car windows, wondering with lazy in- 
terest why such a pretty, stylish girl should be so 
overcome with joy at meeting a dirty little boy, 
and why the urchin, laughing and sobbing, 
should cling with his grimy hands to the neat 
dress. Then, as the train moved out, they could 
just hear the hysterical little voice crying, 
“ Nancy, promise, promise you’ll never leave me 
again.” 

The relentless engine had carried them too far 
on their road for them to see the girl lay her wet 
cheek lovingly on the bright head, or to hear the 
sweet voice say, soothingly, “ Never again. Jack, 
never again.” 

But emotion all vanished when Darnit was 
introduced. He had been Nancy’s quiet, w^ell- 
mannered traveling companion, though he howled 
dismally when she bore him away from the 
palatable rugs in his Baltimore home, where, by 
means of that judicious diet, his ears had some- 


198 


inSS JS^AJS^GY. 


how lost their vast proportions and his frail little 
body had forgotten to quiver at every ominous 
sound. Jack and he became fast friends from the 
first moment of meeting ; a reciprocal admiration 
of each other’s homeliness seemed to unite them 
in the strong bonds of sympathy. 

Next to Jack, Aunt Sallie evinced the greatest 
delight at the traveler’s return. 

“ De cart hab been before de boss, Miss Nancy, 

eber since you done lef des parts; but now 

and the old black face beamed expressively. 

Yes, indeed, everything returned to its accus- 
tomed routine as if by magic, and after a few 
days of the old monotony Nancy almost stopped 
to wonder whether she had ever been away. 
The hotel was gradually filling with summer 
visitors, for it was now late in June, and in a 
short while merry music would waken the echoes 
in the dreary ballroom, while gay dancers dis- 
pelled all the winter’s gloom. 

One evening Nancy was busy in the kitchen 
pouring balm into Jack’s wounds received in an 


BITTENHOTJSE TBWMFHANT. 199 
attack upon a colony of wasps. He had been 
playiag in the grove with Darnit, when suddenly 
he measured his length on a nest. The family 
all being at home, enjoying their evening meal, 
resented this destruction of their earthly Paradise 
with biting vehemence and stinging reproach. 

Jack howled with pain as he flew to Nancy. 
The worst was over; but he was still warmly 
extemporizing on wasps in general in language 
certainly imported from town, when George 
Washington Tubbs, the butler, boss and bottle- 
washer of the Jackson household, entered the 
kitchen to announce *‘a gem’man to see Miss 
Nancy.” Her face flushed and Jack clapped his 
hands with delight. 

Nancy, it must be Furnie.” 

No, miss, it ain’t Mars. Latrobe ; dis am a 
dark gem’man, and he come by de evenin’ stage.” 

<‘Tell him I’ll be there in a minute, Tubbs.” 

‘‘ But, Nancy,” whined Jack, with all a boy’s 
selfishness, “tell him you can’t see him, ’cause 
I’m stung, and you’re goin’ to read to me.” 


200 


3I1S3 NANCY, 


“ I’ll do nothing of the kind, Jack. I’ve done 
everything I can to make you comfortable. Now 
kiss me good-night,” and she left him, sulkily 
kicking the toe of his well-worn boot against the 
stove. 

Slowly she walked down the hall, fastening up 
some stray locks of her dishevelled hair as she 
went. Arriving at the parlor door she stopped, 
with her head meditatively inclined to one side — 
looked for an instant at the sparkling diamond on 
her third finger, drew it off and dropped it 
hastily in her pocket. Next she very carefully 
pushed the heavy gold bangle up her arm to a 
safe hiding place beneath her sleeve, there to 
conceal its enameled “Mizpah.” Then, at last, 
she opened the door and walked in. 

Rahl — for, of course, it was for his sake all 
these elaborate preparations were made — stood, 
with his back turned, absently drumming on the 
window. Nancy hesitated a moment, trying to 
still her beating heart before she said, quietly, 
“Well, you are come, Mr. Rittenhouse.” 


BITTENHOUSE TRIUMPHANT, 201 

“ Nancy, darling !” he cried, passionately, as he 
turned at the sound of her voice. “ Oh, it has 
been such torture to wait till you said I might 
come.” 

His wild happiness at seeing her again, the 
flashing of his dark eyes and his set teeth, show- 
ing his strong effort at self-control, made Nancy’s 
brain reel and her heart throb; yet when he 
moved as though to catch her to him, she stepped 
back haughtily and waved him off. “You forget 
yourself, Mr. Rittenhouse.” 

“ Listen,” speaking hoarsely. “ I have come 
down here to ask you to marry me, and to tell 
you that I shall go mad if you don’t ; I believe 
now I am possessed. I tried from the first to put 
you out of my thoughts. You know how I have 
succeeded. I’m not the man to do things by 
halves, and I love you more than life.” 

“ Lor’, Nancy, what a dude !” It was Jack’s 
disagreeable voice proceeding from Jack’s grin- 
ning mouth. This was his timely revenge. 

Rahl turned — all the intensity of his love 
changed into anger at this rude interruption. 


202 


mss NANCY. 


“ You little devil !” he cried, his face purple 
and his clenched hand raised. 

Nancy thought she had never seen anything so 
terrible as this man’s rage ; while poor little Jack 
stood rooted to the spot, with his petrified head 
in the door. In an instant Rahl was himself 
again, and had apologized to Nancy; but during 
that brief pause Jack had become his mortal 
enemy. 

“Jack,” Nancy said, sternly, “go to your 
room.” Meekly and obediently the head vanished. 
“Come, Mr. Rittenhouse, let us go out on the 
porch,” she added. 

“ No, we may be intruded upon even there. 
Will you walk in the grove ?” 

It was dark and chilly, but Nancy was strangely 
excited, and allowed him to draw her arm through 
his and lead her out. 

“ Now, Nancy, I want your answer. Will you 
be my wife ?” 

For a few moments she could not speak — 
hardly collect the many different thoughts surg- 


BITTENHOTJSE TBIUMPHANT. 203 

ing through her brain. His wife! Mrs. Rahl 
Rittenhouse ! a queen in society and the idol of 
the man she believed she loved. Then ensued a 
sharp moral struggle between heart and con- 
science ; but now as ever the latter succumbed to 
to the former’s “ I love him.” Latrobe, faith, 
honor, even, were swept away by the overpower- 
ing emotion that mastered her, and before con- 
science had time to warn her with a doubt, she 
had answered impulsively, “Yes.” 

In the twilight she looked at her companion, 
surprised by his calmness after the scene they 
had just passed through. There was an unusuM 
gleam in his eyes and a queer look on his face she 
could not comprehend. By that one word she 
had put an end to the terrible jealousy that had 
racked him — to the awful strain of doubt he had 
endured, and the reaction made his passionate 
heart angry for the moment at this girl, as the 
cause of all his suffering; but his love, the 
strongest feeling of this man’s weak nature, 
asserted itself, and, turning towards her, he once 


204 


MISS MAMCY. 


more made as though to take her in his arms. 
Involuntarily she drew back, and, as her hand 
dropped to her side, something gleaming on her 
wrist caught Rahl’s eye. 

“ Who gave you that ?” he demanded, jealously, 
catching hold of it. 

“A friend,” she answered, softly. 

Her lips quivered as she thought how dear a 
friend he was, indeed, who had given it to her. 

Rahl was mollified ; his face softened as kindly 
and gently he leaned down to kiss her. 

“ No,” cried Nancy, petulantly, “ you shan’t 
kiss me — you shan’t even take my hand !” 

This vehemence surprised them both — herself, 
perhaps, more than her companion — he was accus- 
tomed to her vagaries. How could she let him 
touch her with that prayer on her arm ? 

Rittenhouse did not question this new mood — 
he rather admired it; so, together as they had 
come out, they silently returned to the old house. 

Then on the porch Nancy faced him. “You 
can’t come in,” she said, with a mournful tone in 


BITTENHOUSE TBIUMPHAJST. 205 

her voice, “and you mustn’t let any one know 

what has passed between us till , well, till I 

tell you to.” 

“Shan’t I speak to your father?” in rather a 
relieved key. 

“No!” sharply; then, repenting her coldness, 
she laid her hand on his arm: “You must trust 
me; you must believe all I do is right.” Here 
she laughed a little. “ I think you must have 
frightened me to-night with your dreadful tem- 
per; but see,” interrupting the unpleasant allusion, 
“ how bright the moon is.” 

In it’s soft light on the old vine-clad porch 
Nancy looked almost beautiful. “Like an angel,” 
thought the man beside her, standing subdued 
and quiet. 

“ Now, good-night,” the sweet voice went on. 
“Jack will be waiting for me; he never sleeps till 
I come. There, you may take my hand, and — 
yes,” smiling, as he looked at her in hesitation, 
“you may kiss it.” 

But, as he leaned over, the heavy bangle 
slipped down the white arm as though to shield 


206 


mss J^ANCY. 


the hand from profanation. Something of that 
idea must have flashed into Nancy’s mind; for 
before her lover could avail himself of the gracious 
permission she snatched her hand away and dis- 
appeared. Up-stairs she flew into Jack’s room 
only to find that young man sound asleep, and 
snoring, on his little cot. Two big tears dropped 
on the red head as she softly kissed him good- 
night. 

Safe in her own room Nancy sobbed as though 
her heart would break. Of course she was happy, 
but, oh, so sorry for poor Furness, though, on 
the whole, he was well rid of such a girl. It 
would never do to write to him; she must wait 
until he comes. For one thing she felt glad — 
that she had not allowed Rahl to kiss her while 
she was bound to him, and Rahl should not until 
Furness unlocked that bracelet and took it from 
her arm. He had always been so kind and trust- 
ing ; while she . Could he ever forgive her ? 

She wished Rittenhouse had never come to Berke- 
ley to make her so miserable ; and yet, of course, 
slie loved him. 


BITTENHOUSE SQUARED, 


207 


CHAPTER XI 11. 

RITTENHOUSE SQUARED. 

now ensued days that Rahl afterwards 
looked back upon as the happiest of his 
Tife. A man engaged is not generally so joyful 
as a young lady. He looks at it from a more 
business-like point of view, and knows there is 
always the great danger that his betrothed may 
change her mind. The stronger his love, the 
greater his fear; so he redoubles his attentions, 
and his chief pleasure is in looking forward to 
his marriage. When that event transpires he 
very often rests from his exertions and fails in 
those little acts of courtesy so dear to every femi- 
nine heart. It is the very incompleteness of a 
lover’s joy that makes it so keen. 

Rahl felt he did not have any of the privileges 
rhat were his due. He was not permitted to 


208 


3ns S 3^AXCY, 


speak of his engagement in the presence of a 
third party; he had never been allowed another 
kiss, or even caress ; and last, but not least by any 
means, he was never to address her except as 
“ Miss Nancy.” There was a curious restraint 
about her — a restless excitement — and if some- 
times a tender word or a soft glance escaped 
her it seemed to be almost against her will. 

One pretty June night, as they sat on the porch 
together, she startled him by suddenly bursting 
into tears. 

“Why, darling,” he said, gently, not daring to 
touch her, “tell me what it is?” 

“Yes, I must tell you ;” but here she 

stopped. 

“Well, dear?” 

“I haven’t acted rightly to some one ;” 

then, with one of her impulsive changes of mood, 
she added, “but it will all come right. Let us 
go over to the hotel; I want to see Miss Cal- 
well.” And there for the rest of that eveninp’ she 

o 

was the gayest of them all, laughing and chatting 


BITTENHOUSE SqUARED. 209 

with the girls and men as though no care op- 
pressed her. But she was very far from being 
happy. How could she be happy when she knew 
— oh, so well — the wrong she was doing? 

There was a fascination about Rahl Ritten- 
house almost irresistible to her, and yet she knew 
that Furness Latrobe was by far the better man. 
Each day she asked herself the question which 
should she take? and each day the desire to 
break with Latrobe increased, but something 
unaccountable held her back. Her letters to him 
grew shorter, colder and at longer intervals; but 
as his business had been so pressing that any 
visits to Berkeley were impossible, he laid all the 
blame to that. “ Little girl,” he wrote in one of 
his letters, I am coming the ist of July to spend 
a whole week, and then you can give me a good 
scolding.” 

And in the meantime Rahl read and talked, or 
rambled over the country with his ladylove, find- 
ing the sunny June days flying only too fast. 
Sometimes they drove over the mountains, and 
at others scoured the valleys on horseback. 


210 


HISS HAJSrCY, 


Jack certainly was a trial, and many a time 
Rahl felt he could stand him no longer ; for Jack, 
being his sworn enemy, never lost an opportunity 
of proving it disagreeably. Often Nancy even 
grew provoked, but one angry word from Rahl 
was enough to make her take up the cudgels in 
her brother’s defence. He fairly dogged their 
footsteps; no place seemed too remote, no mo- 
ment too inopportune for the obstinate bullet- 
shaped head to appear, with some needless de- 
mand upon his sister. 

One day she was sitting with Rahl on the side 
of the mountain which rises abruptly from the 
grove. He was reading <‘Lucile,” while Nancy 
worked on some dainty bit of lace. He dropped 
the book a minute to watch her busy fingers. 

“ I think,” he said, dreamily, Lucile was a 
little hard on the duke; women are so apt to be 
cruel to the men who love them.” 

It was just the place for romance ; the green 
trees all around completely screening them from 
any curious passers-by, the clear, sweet mountain 


BITTENHOUSE SQUARED. ' 211 

air, and near them the birds twittering in the 
glad sunshine. 

“ Nancy !” called Jack’s noisy voice, jarring on 
the quiet scene, as his still more inharrhonious 
self appeared to view. Nancy, I’ve got a hole 
in my trousers. You must mend it at once’t. 
Here’s the darnin’ cotton.” 

Rahl thought it had an appropriate name, and 
he could not quite conceal his frown as Nancy 
looked at him. 

“ What would you do without me. Jack ?” she 
asked, beginning to mend the hole. 

There was a pleased smile on his wicked little 
face. 

I knowed you was here,” he said, com- 
placently. I always know where you are,” look- 
ing at Rahl, who felt he could cheerfully have 
pushed him down the mountain. ‘‘And he was 
readin’ poetry to you — wasn’t he, Darnit?” to 
that little wretch, his most constant companion. 

“Jack, you were listening, were you ?” 

“I don’t do that,” indignantly; “but I’m sure 


212 


3nSS J^AKCY. 


I couldn’t help hearing as I got near/’ playfully 
kicking dust over Rahl’s low shoes. 

“ Stop that !” he said, haughtily. 

Nancy looked up from her sewing. ^‘Jack, 
you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Go right 
home.” 

But this he flatly refused to do, and neither 
threats nor bribes could move him from the 
stone on which he settled himself. How Rahl’s 
fingers itched to be on him; and finally he and 
Nancy were obliged to make the move. 

Misgivings began to grow in Nancy’s heart as 
she saw their ever-increasing dislike for one an- 
other. What would the future be without her 
beloved Jack? “They will certainly become fond 

of each other in time,” she thought. But now the 
crisis came. 

Ten days had passed since Rahl’s arrival — to- 
night Latrobe was to come. Not until the stage 
thundered in and the hotel people crowded out 
on the porch to inspect the new-comers — not 
until that last moment — did Nancy’s heart stand 


BITTENHOUSE SQUABED, 213 
still, while an awful dread stole over her, making 
her sick and faint with its sudden intensity. 
She remained a little in the background of the 
throng, with Miss Cal well and Rahl, but Furness 
caught sight of her at once. Eagerly he grasped 
her extended hand, and impulsively bent towards 
her face. 

‘‘For Heaven’s sake, don’t kiss me!” she whis- 
pered, nervously. 

For a second he was taken back. “Oh, that’s 
so I” he said, good naturedly. “ I was forgetting 
the people. I will go now and get some of this 
dust off.” 

Though Rahl had not heard the whisper, he 
had noted Latrobe’s quick gesture, and he turned 
to Nancy angrily: “What did he mean?” 

She was frightened — terrible visions of a bloody 
duel shot before her eyes. He must be appeased 
at all hazards. She slipped her hand in his arm. 

“Don’t be so cross. Suppose we go in and 
waltz.” 

“ Nancy,” he said, decidedly, “ I must have an 


214 


MISS MAJSrCY. 


answer. If you don’t tell me, I shall ask La- 
trobe himself. What did he mean ? Do you let 
him, or any other man, kiss you ?” 

There was no evading the question, so she 
must be as firm as he. 

“ Have you any confidence at all in me, Mr. 
Rittenhouse ?” He hesitated. ‘‘For, ’’she went 
on, “ if you have none we may as well break with 
each other now. Without trust, you know, there 
can be no real love.” 

“ Nancy,” he exclaimed, in a low tone of deep 
feeling, “have a little mercy on me.” 

Instantly she followed up the advantage his 
submission gave her. 

“ In a few minutes Mr. Latrobe will come for 
me, and I must go. To-morrow morning he may 
be with me — perhaps in the afternoon, too — but 
at five o’clock I will ride with you. You under- 
stand this is necessary, and you must have confi- 
dence in me.” 

Of course, Rahl acquiesced. 

Nancy fully intended now to break her engage- 


RITTEmiOJJSE SqUAUED, 215 
ment with Furness; but that night as she lay on 
her little bed, trying to get to sleep, there was 
a wild tumult going on in her brain. “ I won’t 
think,”' she said to herself. “ I’ll do as I please;” 
and she tried to still the unwelcome reproaches. 
“ I love Rahl, and I’ve a right to love whomever 
I please. Poor Furness! Well, it was his own 
fault. Oh, if I could only waken up to find it all 
a dream I” But it was too great a reality to be 
put aside; and when at last she fell into an uneasy 
sleep, it was only a very short time before the 
bright sunlight streaming into her room brought 
the consciousness of another day. Her mind was 
not a whit more composed, for the thought of 
how sadly the evening would come for Furness 
sent a curious little thrill of pain through her 
heart and made her head ache with its sharpness. 
‘H’ll tell him this afternoon,” she said; “the later 
the better.” 

After breakfast she delayed round the house, 
playing with the children, talking with sick Mrs. 
Jackson, and helping Aunt Sallie with the pud- 


216 


inss NAJ^CY, 


ding for dinner, thereby almost ruining the fresh- 
ness of her new pink muslin; but at noon she 
took her work and went across to that part of the 
grove where her own particular set of friends 
were sitting beside the little stream of spring 
water that runs through the hotel grounds. Both 
sides of the brook are walled up with rough 
stones, and, being bridged over by a rustic con- 
struction, it adds very much to the beauty of the 
place. 

Two or three girls, with as many men, were 
grouped together under the trees, evidently 
having a gay, good time. 

“What makes you so late this morning?” 
asked one of them, as Nancy sat down in a chair 
dangerously near the run. 

Mr. Latrobe placed his chair by hers. 

“ I have been waiting impatiently for you,” he 
said, in a perplexed tone, for he saw there was 
some change in her which he could not under- 
stand. 

‘*Mr. Rittenhouse has been looking for you 


BITTENHOUSE SQUABED, 217 
everywhere,” said Miss Calvvell, in a very know- 
ing way; “and here he comes now.” 

Something very like a suspicion flashed into 
Latrobe’s head; just as quickly he banished it. 

“Good-morning, Miss Nancy,” Rahl said, in his 
easy manner, as he put a chair on the other side 
of her. He seemed moody and vexed with things 
in general, taking no part in the lively conversa- 
tion to which Nancy added a very forced share. 

“ Nan., you’re too near that edge. You’ll have 
a swim, if you don’t watch out,” warned Miss 
Calwell. 

“It would be more of a wade than a swim,” 
Nancy replied, glancing down at the shallow 
water two or three feet below them. 

“Mr. Rittenhouse, you had better move, too.” 

He was on the very edge, but he paid no heed 
to the kindly warning; and, now, to his further 
annoyance, a ball suddenly struck him on the 
shoulder. He tossed it back, when in a moment 
more the same performance was repeated. 

^‘You shan’t have it again,” he called. 


218 


MISS NANCY. 


‘‘Give me that ball!” commanded Jack, appear- 
ing from behind an adjacent tree. 

Rahl was at a loss to know exactly what to do ; 
he did not wish to off^d Nancy, and yet he cer- 
tainly did not intend to lower himself by obeying 
Jack’s insolent order. He saw they were all 
watching him in amusement, so he tossed it 
lightly across the stream. There was no reason 
why Jack should not cross the little bridge and 
get it, but he simply chose to be angry. Nancy 
said nothing. She knew that public reproof only 
hardened him, and she was so nervously afraid of 
a quarrel that she jumped up, crossed the bridge, 
and in an instant tossed the ball to Jack. It was 
a kind little action, done too quickly for any one 
else to have taken her place. 

“You certainly spoil that boy. Nan.,” remarked 
Miss Calwell. 

Rahl heartily concurred in this opinion. But 
Jack’s anger was evidently not over yet,- so he 
tried new tactics. 

“Come, Nancy,” pulling her; “it’s dinner 
time, and I’m hungry. Come on !” 


BITTENHOUSE SQUARED. 21 ^> 
“ I am not going, Jack ; so you needn’t worry 
me,” she returned, not having the remotest idea 
of allowing him to impose on her. 

“Miss Jackson, may I speak to you a moment?” 
asked a lady, coming near them. 

Nancy rose immediately to go to her, and Jack 
I seated himself in her chair. Latrobe was talkinsr 

c> 

to one of the girls, so for a moment no one 
\ noticed him. 

1; He turned to Rahl. “You’re a coward,” he 
! said, impertinently. 

With a great effort Rahl controlled his temper; 
and now Jack began to wriggle the back of his 
: chair. 

“Stop!” cried Rahl, angrily. 

^ Jack gave the chair a jerk that sent it flying 
! into the brook, while Rahl just rose in time to 
I save himself from falling likewise. 

“You little devil!” he exclaimed, as, without 
E thinking, he struck the boy. It was a harder 
I blow than he intended, and, like a log. Jack fell 
I in the stream, striking his head on the rocks. 


220 


3£ISS JS^ANGY. 


For a minute Rahl was too horrified to move; 
but in that time Latrobe had jumped in, and, 
lifting poor little unconscious Jack gently in his 
strong arms, laid him on the grass. In vain they 
tried to bring him to, while Nancy, pale as death, 
could only wring her hands and moan piteously. 

We had better take him home,” Latrobe said, 
after they had worked with him a while ; “ then 
I’ll go for the doctor.” 

Nancy could hardly drag her trembling limbs 
along, as she followed Latrobe and his precious 
burden. 

The old country doctor had been instantly sum- 
moned by Rahl. His treatment was more success- 
ful than theirs, and he assured them that a few 
hours’ rest would make Jack almost himself again. 

As Nancy sat beside him that afternoon dili- 
gently wafting a large palm-leaf fan, she did a 
great deal of thinking. The morning’s shock 
had scattered all her silly fancies about Rahl 
Rittenhouse, and it seemed to her she could see 
him now in his true light. It was not for the 


BITTENHOUSE SqUABED. 221 
i fatal accident she blamed him, though it did 
seem to her that Furness would never have 
, struck such a little boy; but it seemed to show 
' her how utterly cold he was — how narrow, and 
how incapable of making her perfectly happy. 
“And I believed I loved him,” she thought. “ I’ll 
ride with him this afternoon and tell him then.” 
So she sent a little note, in answer to his, in 
which he expressed his contrition, and inquired 
about the ride. 

At five o’clock Nancy was all ready to mount 
1 her fiery little blue-grass steed. Though the 
I dark-green habit was shabby, it fitted her well, 

I showing to the best advantage the pretty figure, 

! and setting off the fresh face wonderfully. Her 
: jaunty hat had been a little piece of Philadelphia 
i extravagance, and was much too fine for the 
I dress. Rahl was poorly mounted on an old 
livery horse, in miserable comparison to Nancy’s 
small thorough-bred. He had been considerably 
alarmed by the result of his recent act of prowess, 
and was not prepared for her kindly greeting. 


222 


3nSS NANCY, 


He concluded that she was taking the sensible 
view of the matter, so he referred to it lightly. 

“ I am glad Jack is not more seriously hurt.” 

“ He will soon be all right again,” she an- 
swered, as they rode along. 

They were both rather quiet, but, as the heat 
was very oppressive, this was only natural. After 
the sun set it grew cooler, and soon Nancy broke 
the fitful silence. ^‘We had better turn now. It 
will be dark shortly, and it isn’t proper .” 

He laughed. ‘‘What, not with your future 
husband ?” he asked, in an amused tone. 

This broke the ice. 

“There is something I want to tell you,” she 
began. “You remember that night on the porch, 
when I began to cry ?” 

“Yes, I remember; you had something to tell 
me then.” 

“ Mr. Rittenhouse, you ought to know. There 
is some one I have allowed to love me when it 
was not right. Could you forgive a girl for 
doing that?” 


JilTTENHOUSE SqUABED. 


223 


“ Some country bumpkin, I suppose,” his sus- 
picions entirely at rest. “I don’t mind, you 
know, so I’m not the man.” 

“ If I were to tell you that ,” stopping 

as she saw his angry frown. 

“What do you want to tell me ?” he demanded, 
fiercely. “ Have you been trifling with me ?” 
coming so near that their horses touched. 

“ Mr. Rittenhouse,” she began again, nervously, 

“I find I do not love ,” here she stopped; 

every moment she was getting more frightened. 

“ Is it Latrobe ? I could kill him !” savagely. 

“ I haven’t treated you ,” another break. 

Oh, if she could only get away from him — his 
anger was terrible. She touched her horse ; but 
Rahl saw her design, and made a great eflbrt to 
control himself. 

“ Listen to me,” he said, in a hoars6 voice, la}"- 
ing hold of her bridle. 

Nancy lost her head completely; she grew 
frantic to escape. Raising her little whip she 
gave him a stinging, nasty blow on the hand. 


224 


MISS NANCY. 


Involuntarily he let go the reins, and, like a flash, 
she shot ahead. She heard him galloping in 
pursuit; heard him shout to her, but she paid no 
heed. Soon the cool air began to have its effect 
on her nerves; she slackened her pace, being 
compelled to go very slowly through a drove of 
cows, and in a few minutes Rahl joined her. He 
had now completely conquered his passion. 

“You needn’t be afraid of me,” he said, bitterly; 
“ I won’t reproach you.” 

Nancy began to see how foolishly — how cruelly 
she had behaved. 

“ I haven’t acted rightly,” she exclaimed. 

“You have acted very well,” sarcastically. 

“ If I could only have it to go over again, how 
very different I should be.” 

“Don’t distress yourself” — he was the old, in- 
different man of the world she had first met. “A 
woman can’t help being false — men should ex- 
pect it.” 

This stung Nancy. “And how did you treat 
me last winter ?” 


BITTEN HO USE S Q UABED. 225 

“Oh, then you were taking revenge,” lazily, 
“I might have guessed as much. “Well, you 
came very near succeeding.” 

“ It wasn’t revenge,” cried Nancy, bitterly,, 
repenting her hasty speech. “ Call me thought- 
less or foolish, or anything but malicious. Oh, 
Rahl, tell me you don’t believe that !” 

She put her hand on his arm, and looked up in 
his face beseechingly. It was the hardest mo- 
ment of that man’s life, I think. 

“We will say no more about it, if you please,” 
he answered, coldly. “ I have received my conge; 
I shall take it with a good grace.” 

Latrobe was waiting for her on the porch when 
they rode up. Mr. Rittenhouse then said “ good- 
evening” very politely, thanked her for the 
pleasant ride, and withdrew. 

If ever there was a miserable girl in this world 
it was Nancy that night. She excused herself 
early from Latrobe, to kneel for hours by her 
little attic window. Long-stifled conscience gave 
her no rest — now every wrong action of the last 


226 


3ns S JS^ANCY. 


few months rose before her with awful vividness. 
Hers was a nature of extremes — she enjoyed or 
suffered with her whole soul, and now it seemed 
to her as though her sin were black beyond 
redemption. What could she do to show her 
penitence? — be true to Furness? Then for the 
first time the thought struck her — ought she to 
tell him? “Yes, I will,” she cried, “ I’ll tell him 
to-morrow morning.” 

* It must have been midnight, for she heard the 
rumble of the stage-coach starting for the two 
o’clock train, and leaning out she saw beside the 
driver, in the bright moonlight, a figure she 
thought she knew. She watched him till they 
turned the corner, and then she folded her hands 
and prayed. 


JACK AS A CHAPEROJSr, 


227 


CHAPTER XIV. 

JACK AS A CHAPERON. 

j^'EXT morning Nancy arrayed herself in the 

freshest of dresses, very much in the same 

spirit that a suicide dons his Sunday clothes. 

* 

According to the previous night’s appointment 
Latrobe appeared at the gate precisely at nine 
o’clock. There was a perplexed look on his 
usually bright face, as he puffed impatiently at his 
fragrant Havana. Nancy answered his greeting 
nervously, her voice trembling and her eyes on 
the ground. 

“ There is something I would like you to hear. 
Mr. Rittenhouse has gone.” Though this was not 
the important communication, yet she paused, as 
if expecting some remark. None came, so she 
continued. “ I thought I was in love with him, 
so when he came here to ask me to marry him, 
I said, ' yes.’ ” 


228 


31ISS J^ANCr. 


Latrobe started ; then the half-smoked cigar 
was flung far out on the grass. 

“ I meant to tell you all the time, but I waited ; 
and, then, I didn’t care for him a bit, and now he 
is gone. I hope you are not very angry.” She 
raised her eyes to his face; it was stern and very, 
very grave. Without a moment’s thought she 
took off her engagement ring, thrust it in his 
hand, and walked dowly in the house. If she 
expected him to call her back she was mistaken ; 
for he neither moved nor spoke. 

Once in her room Nancy threw llferself on the 
bed in a storm of tears. Now she had lost this 
noble fellow she realized how completely he had 
won her love. All that morning she lay there 
sobbing her heart out, or walked the floor in a 
state of frenzy. 

It chanced as she was thus going to and fro in 
the little room she unintentionally glanced from 
the open window, and out in the grove, under the 
trees, sat Furness Latrobe with — Nancy could 
scarcely believe her eyes — a young lady. “ Well,” 


JACK AS A CHAPERON, 


229 


she muttered, clenching her hands. “ I never did 
see such audacity. He might at least have shown 
enough consideration for my feelings to keep 
away from the house. He hasn’t even, turned 
his back to it,” with a sob, “but lets the girl do 
that.” Then, savagely, “ I wonder who she is. 
Of course, she’s pretty, or he wouldn’t be looking 
so sweetly at her. Oh, if she’d only turn her 
head. Perhaps it’s his Baltimore friend — the 
heiress. I know — I’ll send Jack to see if it is.” 

Being near the hour for their mid-day meal, 
Jack was within call, and came at once. 

“ Little brother,” she said, while he gazed won- 
deringly at the red eyes and swollen face, “ sister 
wants to know who Furnie is talking to out in the 
grove.” 

Jack’s arms were round her neck in rough 
sympathy; for his precocious mind had caught at 
the cause of his sister’s trouble. Then he was off 
willingly to do her bidding. Nancy watched him 
from the fatal window, and saw — again she 
doubted her sight — but no, she certainly saw 


230 


311SS JS^ANCY. 


Jack march straight up to Furness, and with his 
hand confidently resting on the latter’s knee, 
make some remark which caused Latrobe to laugh 
till the hearty sound reached her ears way off 
there by the casement; then he took something 
from his Norfolk jacket and presented it to Jack. 
Besides all this she saw the girl offer him candy, 
and, what was more, the traitor took a plentiful 
supply. 

“Jack,” gasped Nancy, as soon as he appeared, 
“what have you done ?” 

“Ain’t done nothin’ ’cept ask that girl’s name, 
and I’m blessed if he told me.” 

Jack scratched his head in amazement at his 
own stupidity. 

“Well,” Nancy said, impatiently, shaking him 
by the arm, “what did he give you?” 

“ Nothin’.” 

“ Jack, that’s a story. I saw the lady hand you 
some candy, and he gave you something else.” 
She hoped it was a note and, perhaps, her ring. 

There was a wicked gleam in Jack’s eye, as he 


231 


JACK ^ 1 ^ A CllAFEBOK 
produced a cigar. He bit the end like an old 
experienced smoker before he continued : He 
said you was to be ready to go with him this 
afternoon, a little after five, to see the sunset 
from the mountain.” 

“Oh!” she exclaimed, doubtfully. Although 
not pardon, it was reprieve ; but such an ambigu- 
ous message might mean anything. It probably 
meant that Furness intended to tell her definitely 
now that all was over between them, or possibly 
he would magnanimously offer to renew the en- 
gagement, or he might— and here Nancy’s face 
brightened — he might mean to tell her that he 
loved her enough to forgive everything. 

All the afternoon she sat in her cool room^ 
bathing her eyes, till by the hour named there 
was not even a telltale flush to hint of the tem- 
pestuous morning. 

At quarter past five precisely Nancy, arrayed 
in her best white muslin and her Sunday hat, 
with its soft mulle and drooping feathers, stepped 
out on the porch, with an air of “ now or never.” 


232 


MISS MAMCY. 


“ Why, Nancy, you’ve got on all your Sunday 
fixin’s,” quoth Jack. 

He had been previously bidden to stay at 
home; but as he had about as much respect for 
orders as for all things else material, Latrobe 
was immediately informed, in a decided tone, 
that he was to be one of the party. 

‘'But, Jack,” Furnace said, good-naturedly, 
“you know two are company and three are not.” 

“Oh, you needn’t feel badly about that; we 
won’t mind your goin’ with us this once, will we, 
Nancy?” 

Of course, they laughed, and, of course, Jack 
had his way. 

First came the steep climb up from the grove; 
a short walk on the road; then another sharp 
climb before they struck the path that wound up 
to the top. The silence was almost unbroken. 
How Nancy wished Jack would talk; but he, 
probably feeling it was expected of him, kept 
quiet. At last they arrived on the open level 
space on which the tower was built. Originally 


JxiCK AS A CIIAPEHOIT, 233 

it had been erected as a speculation, and people 
were required to pay for the view from its roof ; 
but this had long since failed or suffered to fall 
into disuse, so it now stood solitary and deserted. 
The roof was fenced round with a rude circular 
bench and railing. As they emerged upon it, 
panting and breathless, the sun was just setting 
amid masses of rosy-tinted clouds, throwing a 
beautiful golden light over the country. The 
valley stretched below them for miles, rising and 
falling, bordered with the distant blue mountains. 
They could just see the village of Berkeley, very 
small, and far away, beneath them. 

The three sat down on the rickety bench cov- 
ered with the autographs of many pilgrims, and 
Jack at once took out his knife preparatory to 
adding his own distinguished name to the register. 
This was more than Latrobe had bargained for. 

“Jack,” he said, resolutely, “having enjoyed 
your society to the fill, we find that our health 
requires your absence for the brief space of ten 
minutes, so we will excuse your retirement to the 
first floor.” 


234 


mss JS'ANCY. 


“But I ain’t goin’,” with one hand on his 
bandaged head and a look of pain calculated to 
evoke indulgence. 

“Jack, you bear pain like a man, and, as one 
man speaking to another, I ask you politely to 
step below.” 

Either the determined tone or the little compli- 
ment had the desired effect on Jack. 

“ Latrobe, you’re a square fellow, and I’ll 
he said, in a “ grown-up” tone, and left them. 

As he vanished all Nancy’s nervousness re- 
turned. She sat twisting and untwisting the 
ribbons on her dress, till at last the silence be- 
came unbearable. 

“ Did you ever,” she inquired anxiously, with a 
little catch in her voice, “ Did you ever see such 
a beautiful sky ?” 

“ Nancy,” he said, gravely, “ I didn’t come up 
here to talk about the landscape, but to ask my 
little girl why she was so hasty in throwing off 
her ring ? and if it was because she found in my 
case, as in Rittenhouse’s, that she had made a 
mistake ?” 


JACK AS A CHAPEROJSr. 


235 


No ! no!” cried Nancy; “it wasn’t that. I 
thought you would want it back because I had 
broken my faith.” 

The quivering lips and drooping figure were 
too much for Latrobe. He touched her gently. 

“ If you have made no mistake, sweetheart, let 
me put it on again.” 

“ Not till you hear me — not till I hearjyc?// say 
you forgive me.” 

“ There is nothing I care to hear, little one ; 
and I could almost wish your misdeeds were 
greater, that I might have more to forgive. Now 
give me your hand, and let me put on the ring 
that is never to come off again.” 

The tears rolling down Nancy’s cheeks reck- 
lessly spotted the Sunday dress. 

“ Oh, you are so good,” she murmured, “and,’” 
but the the rest of her opinion was sobbed out in 
her lover’s arms. Very soon afterwards came the 
smiles, as Latrobe, in a tone of great authority, 
proceeded to make their plans for the future. 

“We will be married,” he said, “in early Octo- 


236 


3IISS NA^^Cr. 


her, down in that pretty little country church ; we 
will travel for a month or so before settling down 
in stiff old Baltimore. There, in that town, so 
unlike giddy, bustling Philadelphia, you will have 
no opportunity to display your talent for flirting. 

There, under my strict surveillance, you he 

stopped, for there was an admonitory look in the 
gray eyes betokening a speedy return of the past 
shower. “Never mind, sweetheart; I didn’t mean 
to tease you. Let’s change the subject. Oh, by 
the way, did our friend Chivick recover his usual 
robust health? You never furnished me with any 
reports.” 

“ He is dead,” she answered simply, her voice 
very low. “ Poor little chap !” In a spirit of 
unconscious reverence Latrobe bared his head. 
Presently Nancy continued: “I am afraid he 
liked me very much, and sometimes I even feel as 
though I am to blame for all his suffering, be- 
cause at first I did try to make him like me, 
Furness.” 

“Ain’t them ten minutes up yet?” came a voice 


JACK AS A CHAPEBON. 237 

from below. No answer. Jack patiently returned 
to the elaborate carving of his euphonious name. 
But there is a limit to everything, particu- 
larly Jack’s patience. Five minutes had scarcely 
dragged themselves along when he raised his 
voice once more, this time in indignation : “ See 
here!” he shouted, “the sun sat most an hour ago.’^ 
Even this respectful recognition of Nancy’s supe- 
rior wisdom, in teaching that nothing but hen’s 
“set,” failed to elicit a response, so Jack decided 
to take matters in his own hands. He mounted 
I the steps determinedly, but he no sooner reached 
I the top than an expression of the most intense 
disgust overspread his countenance. “ Well, I 
never!” he ejaculated slowly. “You might have 
, done all that foolin’ down to the house, without 
draggin’ a fellow all the way up here to wait till 
you got through.” 

And this is what he saw : In bold relief against 
the evening sky, Latrobe leaning back comfort- 
ably in the corner seat, his arm around Nancy,, 
whose head rested on the rough tweed coat„ 


238 


3nss IfANCY. 


while the breezes took unwonted liberty with her 
uncovered hair; and the hat — Jack’s especial ad- 
miration — lay unheeded on the dusty floor, with 
its glory of tulle and feathers — as Jack graphi- 
cally expressed it — butter side down.” 

“Jack, have a cigar,” said Latrobe, sweetly; 
but Jack had now risen superior to all such 
artifice. 

“ Nancy Jackson,” he sternly admonished her, 
■“you’ll take your death of cold, sitting in this 
windy place in that there dress.” 

“That’s a fact. What is it, Nancy, about 
children and fools speaking the truth? I have 
learned a lesson from your good sense, young 
man, and no more white dresses unescorted by 
blanket shawls. Now for the homeward march. 
Run ahead, my man, and tell the anxious crowd 
of villagers we are coming.” 

“No, siree, bob; you don’t catch me fooled 
twice. I’d come back to-morrow and find you, 
on the side of the mountain, a-huggin’ Nancy.” 

“The rebuke is just, but the language is vulgar. 


JACK AS A CHAP EBON, 239 

You should never employ the term “hugging” 
in the presence of a lady. But there is one ques- 
tion I should like to put to you, Jack — are fires 
very frequent in this enterprising village?” 

“ No,” briefly. 

“ I presume you have not told your sister of the 
one that broke out yesterday afternoon when she 
was away.” Nancy winced at this unintentional 
allusion to that terrible ride. “Well,” Latrobe 
said, with his hearty laugh, “as I came in for 
damages, and found the goods uninsured. I’ll 
take the liberty of recounting the little tale, with 
your permission. Jack.” That young gentleman 
grinned, in huge appreciation of the joke, so 
Latrobe continued : “ I was sitting in the grove, 
about half-past five, smoking, with a crowd of 
fellows” — a stress on the masculine distinction, for 
which he was rewarded with a smile — “when 
suddenly we were startled by the cry of ‘fire!’ and 
half-a-dozen kids rushing in our direction. I 
caught the little Jenks boy, and he said it was in 
Tiler’s store. We hurried over there only to find 


240 


MISS MAMCY. 


old Tiler on the front steps, hastily donning his 
linen duster preparatory to running to the fire. 
We assured him if there was such a thing it must 
be in his own establishment. Then the whole 
situation dawned on him, and I wish you could 
have seen his face; it was rich!” and Latrobe 

J 

burst into a peal of laughter, well sustained by ’ 
Jack, till they waked the echoes. “Will you . 
believe me, Nancy? these kids conspired that, ^ 
while half went in to purchase an extravagant ] 
supply of candy, the other half remained outside; ^ 
and at a given signal — just as the goods were { 
delivered and the cash not returned — they set up ^ 
this howl of 'fire!’ Then, of course, the whole ^ 
gang skipped. Tiler was furious — said the next f 
time they should pay first; but I settled the 
bill, in silent admiration of such marvellous 
strategy. Jack, you have an abnormal head for 
trade — ^business trade. Now, I propose you come 
to live with us in Baltimore where this talent 
may be cultivated.” 

In Jack’s wild burst of delight and Nancy’s 
smiles Latrobe had his sufficient reward. 


I 


JACK A8 A CHAFEROK. 


241 


That night Nancy stood on the old vine-clad 
porch, watching her lover’s stalwart figure as he 
crossed the moon-lit road, ever and again turning 
to wave her a good-night, and into her heart 
there came such peace and happiness as never^ 
left it while this man was beside her, not only to 
love and cherish, but to make her better and 
nobler. 


242 


MISS NANCY, 


CHAPTER XV. 

HER WEDDING DAY. 

V' 

summer that succeeded would have been 
too happy for this earth if there had not 
been many little things to worry Nancy. She 
tried — oh, so hard — to be good — not to go to 
the hotel to dance and flirt with the others; 
and, indeed, it was a trial for her to give up this | 
mild gayety. She petted and spoiled the children j 
until at last Jack flatly refused to mind any one ; 
but Latrobe. For one day in the week at least , 
he was compelled to behave, but he made up for 
it in the other six. Nancy worked steadily on i 
her trousseau, making her slender purse go far ; 
enough to admit of having her wedding dress ^ 
made in Philadelphia. If you are a Southerner ? 
you know what that means. She hardly had | 
time to drive around the country, in September, I 


HER WEDDING DAY. 


243 


to watch the change of the leaves from green to 
red and yellow; but, as she sat sewing at her 
little attic window, she could see the great 
patches of brilliant color up the mountain side. 
The old stage was crowded, now, on its trips to 
Sir John’s Run, with summer guests hurrying off 
to their city homes, so by the first of October only 
a party from Baltimore, for the wedding, were at 
the hotel, partially opened for their especial use. 
By that night the last dress was laid in the trunk, 
and, as of old. Jack locked and strapped it; but 
refused absolutely to tack on her new name. This 
night before the wedding was a strange one for 
Nancy; the old house had been quite transformed 
with plants and flowers until it looked like some 
old English home. All the presents had been 
put in the parlor by tasteful fingers, and soft 
white curtains draped the windows; the chairs 
had been collected in the dining-room, in antici- 
pation of the morrow’s feast ; the children were in 
bed, and now there remained a few minutes 
breathing space for the bride-elect before the 


244 


mss NANCY. 


serenade from the village band. Her two brides- 
maids — Berne Latrobe and Edith Shew — were 
over at the hotel dancing, in the great gloomy 
ball-room, to the sound of George Washington 
Tubbs’ fiddle; evidently the delegation of guests 
from Baltimore were enjoying this little spree. 

Mrs. Latrobe was in the sitting-room, having a 
quiet chat with Captain and Mrs. Jackson, while 
Aunt Hannah sat up, stiffly, in a straight-backed 
chair, making a violent effort not to quarrel with 
her brother-in-law. Nancy and Furness had been 
talking with them, but now she led him into the 
parlor to show him the presents. 

“For, you know, to-morrow you won’t have 
a chance of seeing them ; you will be on exhibi- 

% 

tion yourself,” she said, as they strayed around ^ 
the room. 

“Who sent this work of art?” he exclaimed, 
putting his foot on a rug of most brilliant hues. 

“Old Mrs. Brown, a farmer’s wife, way out in 
the country. She’s almost blind, poor thing !” 

“Well, I can’t say I admire her taste in colors,” 
returned he. 


HER WEDDING DAY. 


245 


“ That must go in the library, or she will be 
hurt.” 

It shall be sacred to Darnit.” 

‘‘And look at this Furness; isn’t it touching? 
The man who keeps the tin-shop sent it ; it’s for 
oysters. You know I remind him of his first 
wife.” 

Mr. Latrobe threw himself on a sofa and burst 
out laughing. 

“Who sent that little army of paper-cutters?” 

“ Now, Furness, don’t laugh. You knowhow 
awfully poor they all are, and how they must 
have denied themselves to send them. Paper- 
cutters are useful.” 

Somehow these homely gifts touched Nancy 
much more than her expensive and artistic 
presents; but Latrobe was determined to see only 
the funny side of things, so continued : “ How 
graceful those wax-flowers are ; to whom are we 
indebted for them ?” looking at a bunch of the 
stiffest imaginable, covered with the traditional 
bell-glass case. 


246 


MISS MAMCT, 


“ They are for our centre-table.” 

“What an artistic house we shall have ! But, 
seriously, Nancy, we are a fortunate pair.” 

She was flitting round the room, changing this 
and dusting that. Suddenly she deposited before 
him two big vases, decorated with huge bunches 
of staring flowers, lavishly finished in gold. 

“These, Furness,” kneeling beside them, “are 
for our parlor mantel-piece.” 

“No, Miss Nancy; that is Avhere I draw the 
line. If those vases go in our parlor I go out. I 
hope none of my family sent them ; their lives 
shall answer for it if they did.” 

She laughed a little, then answered, slowly : 
“ Mrs. Chivick gave them in Dick’s name,” 
clasping them tenderly in her arms. 

“And what did Rahl send?” asked Furness, 
looking intently at her. 

She smiled. “ He didn’t send anything.” 

“Do you wish he had, Nancy?” 

“Well, 1 don’t like to be forgotten so soon.” 

“ He remembers you only too well, you may 


HER WEDDING DAY, 


247 


be sure; it’s not forgetfulness. Do those sweet 
strains falling on my ear mean that the band is 
here?” 

“Yes, they do; and they want some beer.” 

In a few minutes more the village band to a 
man were drinking Miss Nancy’s health and hap- 
piness, in the kitchen. A little later some fire- 
works were sent up, the leader affirmed ; but as 
no one ever saw them, it is supposed they were 
a failure. Some tactless persons to this day ask 
him if he did not confound pyrotechnics with the 
stars he was seeing just then. 

The supposition about Rahl Rittenhouse was 
correct. To the outward world he is the same; 
society knows him more than ever as its acknowl- 
edged leader; no german is a perfect success, in 
the sacred precincts south of Market street, unless 
he leads it — no belle quite happy unless she gets a 
few words from him. As he grows older he will 
adhere more strictly to the traditions of his ances- 
tors be more exclusive than ever — and yet, 

sometimes instinctively, his steps will turn to 


248 


HISS HANCY, 


Caterpillar street, and he will find himself by that 
well-known 2013. There is one subject tacitly 
forbidden between Mr. Coles and himself. He 
will never marry; even Mrs. Rittenhouse’s clever 
tactics cannot avail to make him fancy his cousin ; 
and finally, perhaps, at the ripe age of thirty, 
the wretched Maude, finding the maternal oppo- 
sition continues, will elope with the equally 
wretched Mr. Cadams, who will spend the rest of 
his life lamenting the step he has taken, while his 
wife settles dowm into an ordinary commonplace 
Philadelphia matron. 

Nancy’s wedding is to take place at the early 
hour of ten, to enable the young couple to catch 
a certain train, and by that hour the little church 
on the hill is crowded. The middle aisle is left 
for the “ladies and gentlemen but the villagers 
of all ranks, from the well-to-do postmaster down 
to the shock-headed little barefoot boy, feel enti- 
tled to a seat, or standing room, at least, in the 
side aisles. Outside, crowded round the door, 
are little children, beside those of a larger growth. 


HER WEDDING DAY. 


249 


who consider this the best place to get a view; 
but they are very careful to leave sufficient passage 
for the b.ide, and not to step on her carpet. The 
church is bright with autumn branches and 
greens; and now the village organist begins to 
perform on the little melodeon. At first Presby- 
terian hymns, generally of a mournful character, 
fall from her rather unskilful fingers ; but at a 
given signal from the minister she draws a deep 
breath and plunges into her chef-d' oeuvi'e — “ the 
Wedding March.” Several quick ears among the 
congregation start at the unwonted melody ; but 
now their attention is drawn to a more important 
matter. Latrobe and his best man. Bob Karrall, 
take their places in full view; the crowd in the side 
aisles stand up in a body, and give an honest, 
hearty stare at the coming procession. First the 
ushers, with imperturbable faces, move steadily 
along; next, Berne and Edith, in their muslin 
dresses ; then, with infantile gravity, come little 
Ken and Virgie, hand-in-hand, wonder and fear 
mingled in their wide open eyes; last, the bride, 


250 


MISS NANCY, 


leaning on her father’s arm. The rustle of her 
heavy silk dress is almost the only sound heard, 
as they slowly walk to the minister. All her 
pretty color is gone, and her bouquet trembles 
visibly as they move on. Latrobe steps forward 
and takes her from her father ; then the ceremony 
proceeds. 

At first, as she stands there, the thought strikes 
her, “Oh, is my dress all right?” and many foreign 
ideas flit through her mind. How distinctly she 
sees the pattern of the carpet ; but as she makes 
her solemn vows, better, holier thoughts rise 
within her. She prays to be forgiven for her 
trifling; and then Dick comes before her, and her 
eyes grow dim. Now her mind is fixed on the 
present and the man beside her. 

As they turn from the minister, and Berne 
throws back her veil, she raises her head proudly 
for a moment to look into the faces of those in 
front. He is her husband — this is the beginning 
of a new life. No fright or pallor now; she 
walks as easily and naturally as though in her 


HEB WEDDING DAT, 


251 


own home. As she is about to step in the 
carriage she drops a flower into the hands of a 
dirty little boy who reminds her of Jack. The 
fierce anger of this dearly-beloved brother was 
the one bitter drop in her cup of happiness. Up 
to the last day — the last hour — until he saw her 
in her wedding-dress, he had been confident he 
could persuade her not to do it. He was so sure 
she would not leave him, that when he found it 
was hopeless, he shut himself up in his own 
room, and refused to grace the ceremony with his 
presence. He actually chopped up the white 
kids Latrobe had given him and threw them in 
the fire. 

I don’t think any one’s absence could have 
been such a blow to Nancy; but at the wedding 
breakfast he consented to sit by her, even making 
a very hearty meal, and it was not until the keen 
edge of his appetite was taken off that he allowed 
his feelings to get the better of him. 

There was a short reception held before the 
breakfast, during which all took advantage of the 


252 3IISS NANCY. 

time-honored custom of saluting the bride. Bob 
Karrall insisted the bridesmaids were not exempt 
from this tax, and made saucy little black-eyed 
Berne so indignant that she cried, “ If you do 
I’ll slap you.” It is a well-ascertained fact that 
he did kiss her then and there ; that she did not 
slap him, but that they settled their differences on 
the back porch that very evening. 

The breakfast was a grand affair. Aunt Sallie 
had several assistants in the kitchen, while George 
Washington Tubbs fairly staggered under his 
loads. 

Under the influence of the good cheer Captain 
Jackson came out wonderfully, and when he stood 
up to make his speech quite outdid himself. 

After his the speeches grew fast and furious 
Nancy was very happy until some one alluded to. 
her as Mrs. Latrobe, speaking of how much she 
would be missed in her mountain home. Then 
she saw Jack slide under the table, and she could 
hear loud snorts from the same region. Gently 
she felt round with her little slippered foot until 


HER WEDDING DAY. 


253 


she touched him; then she thrust her hand under 
the table, and unrestrainedly Jack’s tears flowed 
down on her silk dress and dimmed the lustre of 
her wedding-ring. 

But all feasts and fasts, too, must have an end ; 
so, in the midst of the conviviality, Tubbs an- 
nounced the carriage. 

As they drove off a few minutes later, amid a 
shower of rice and old shoes, Nancy looked back 
at the group clustered round the gate; but her 
eyes rested last and longest on a motionless little 
figure in brand new knickerbockers, standing out 
in the road, gazing intently at the vanishing vehi- 
cle. No fear now of his climbing the mountain 
for another good-bye kiss. Jack’s first great blow 
has fallen on him, and he bears it in silence and 
alone. 

Nancy’s face is a little sad as they pass the 
post office, but she tries to smile on her humble 
friends, whose hearty “Three cheers for Miss 
Nancy !” send the horses galloping up the hill ; 
but when they settle down into a brisk trot she 


254 


3ns S JS'ASCY, 


breaks out in her old impulsive way: “Oh, Fur- 
ness, help me to be good !” 

His answer is strangely earnest : “ Please God, 
little one, we’ll both be good.” 

“Amen!” said Nancy, softly. 


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